Smiles and Laughter
by anonymous0503
Summary: Gob finds a friend when he meets the new smoothskin in town. She has a quirky personality, a nondescript appearance, and a ludicrous drive to make him happy - no matter the cost.
1. Chapter 1

It was a blustery day in the Capital Wasteland as the vault dweller from 101 made her way up a winding serpent of walkways and rooftops. Dressed in the brown garb common among the wasteland's many wanderers, she held a bandana to her face as cold gusts of wind careened into her. The other hand clutched a simple knapsack, holding it tight against her body. Dust and sand buffeted the sheet metal of Megaton's walls and businesses, creating a terrible din. She lifted her chin, squinting against the windstorm's assault. The sign up ahead signaled she was headed in the right direction.

Keeping her pace slow so as not to be blown off the precarious balcony, she ducked her head and ploughed forward. Upon reaching the door, the building's façade providing a bit of shelter from the wind, she stuffed the bandana into her bag and double-checked that her 10mm was securely concealed in her waistband.

Pushing the door open, she found the saloon to be quite muted. Aside from a few hanging light bulbs, the bar was mostly dark. The walls and roof shivered as the storm continued to whip the rusty town, the sound like that of a thousand tiny fists hitting the building, a crowd howling in woeful agony.

She examined the main room – the tables scattered about her, the old bar directly ahead, the stairs leading up to a balcony with a handful of closed doors. Besides her, there didn't appear to be anyone about. It was ten in the morning, and with the storm outside, she figured most people would sooner hunker down in their own homes than venture here. She, however, was on a mission. The local sheriff's warning still rang around her ears, but she desperately needed information.

The girl ran a hand across her forehead and down behind her ear, but found the effort fruitless as her cropped light brown hair refused to be tucked, and instead fell back over her cheek. She was about to call out, but a slight stirring of movement grabbed her attention. A man stood behind the bar facing some shelves, his form almost indistinguishable from the building's patchwork interior in the dim lighting.

She crept forward, listening to the sounds of the wind as it battered the building. Looking up, she saw a few pieces of canvas stretched over sizable holes in the roof. Though they shook violently against the storm, she figured they would otherwise let in a pleasant amount of light during the day, giving the saloon a much warmer feel.

He still had his back to her as she approached, her most polite, "Excuse me," all cocked and ready to go. At the exact moment she began to reach out, the figure went to turn around, bumping her hand with his shoulder. Both parties jumped back at the sight of each other, the vault girl letting out a short shriek of terror while the man stumbled back into the shelves, knocking a few handfuls of bottles and various dishes onto the floor.

The man, or what she had believed was a man, had an appearance unlike any she'd ever seen. Missing skin showcased the raw muscles in his neck and over his jaw, and a jagged depression sat where his nose should've been. The skin on his exposed arms, she now noticed, was similarly scarce, revealing his inner anatomy complete with pulsating veins and stretching sinew. It looked as if he'd been put through a grinder. Her hand flew to cover her mouth, still reeling from the horrific sight before her, while the other thought of her pistol.

Recovering from his fall against the shelves, the person leaned away from her with one hand over his heart, gasping down breath. Each inhale was terribly ragged, as if breathing was a painful chore.

They stayed this way for a few moments, allowing the sudden fright to slowly ebb. Since the stranger had not lunged at her, and everyone else in Megaton had so far been marginally friendly, she convinced herself that he was not a threat to her. If anything, he appeared equally shaken up by the encounter.

Forcing her gaze up to his shoulder, she approached again, hand stretched out in a nonthreatening gesture. "I'm sorry," she said, mindful of the puddle of broken glass and ceramic he now stood in. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"I'll say," he replied, his voice rough and grating like gravel. "You only snuck up on me like a soundless phantom." His hand dropped from his chest and he stood upright.

The girl chewed her lower lip, avoiding his clouded stare.

"What's the matter? You never see a ghoul before?" he demanded, his tone still tight with adrenalin.

She tried to force herself to look, but couldn't.

The ghoul dropped his stare and swore under his breath, looking at the broken glass. He crouched to clean up the mess, gingerly placing the broken pieces in a torn-up palm.

"I'm sorry," she began, stooping to help him, but flinched back when he jerked away from her. "W-what's wrong?" she stammered. "I was just going to help you clean," she said, her voice fading away.

"You mean, you're not gonna hit me?" he said, the tension in his shoulders slowly dropping.

"Of course not," she exclaimed, slightly hurt by his insinuation. "Why would I do such a thing?"

His face twisted up in a bewildered smile, ragged lips held together tightly. "Jeez kid, you must not be from around here. Most everyone gives me a rough time for looking like a corpse."

This time she held his stare, regrettably agreeing with the comparison. He returned to cleaning up the mess, smile dissolving into a frown of shame.

"Not like I can blame 'em," he added.

They cleared the broken glass together, the girl on her knees an arm's length away, much to his curious surprise. She dusted herself off, standing to her feet.

"Can I get you anything, smoothskin? Something to eat? A drink?" he asked, moving to the front of the bar.

"No thanks." She followed along the bar's outer edge, contemplating the name he gave her. "You were right though," she admitted, standing somewhat in front of him. "I'm not from around here. Just got to town yesterday."

"Passing through?" the bartender asked, wiping a shot glass with a brown cloth.

She wondered if the cloth had once been white. "Not sure," she said honestly. "I'm looking for someone – a friend. I was told, maybe you've seen him? Middle-aged guy, gray-brown hair?"

"Sorry," he said, wiping another tumbler, "haven't seen anyone like that recently."

"But, I thought," she said, images speeding around behind her eyes. "Aren't you Moriarty?"

"Moriarty?" he echoed, chuckling lightly at the lost look on her face. "Heck no. Moriarty's my boss. I think he said he was gonna go yak it up with that old raider, Jericho."

The saloon shook as the wind rattled it in its tin frame. The girl tossed her gaze over her shoulder to stare at the door, her business obviously with Moriarty and not his lackey. He expected her to leave, but the wind, or the idea of walking into an ex-raider's house, or something else caused her to turn around, still unsuccessful at maintaining eye contact.

"Who are you then," she asked, "if you're not Moriarty?"

"Me?" he returned, his hands falling motionless to the bar's surface. "You want to know my name?"

A tiny smile tugged at her lips as she went to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. "Yes, I'd like to know your name," she insisted lightly.

"It's," he stuttered, inexplicably drawing a blank. The smoothskin watched with innocence in her eyes as he fumbled around the recesses of his rotting brain for his name. After what seemed like an eternity, although it couldn't have taken more than a few moments, he came up for air. "It's Gob," he said. "Gob. My, my name's Gob."

"Mine's Cassie," she replied, looking down at her fingers and wishing she were brave enough to offer him a handshake.

Gob swallowed a lump in his throat, upset with himself, but he shook it off. "So, you said you're not from around here," he said, resuming wiping the glass in his hands. "Where're you from?" As a bartender, small talk came naturally, even if most people wouldn't give him the time of day.

She opened her mouth to answer, but suddenly appeared unsure. Her hand went to rub at her wrist, but he couldn't see anything wrong with it besides a little sand chafing. "Some place very far away," she stated with confidence. "How about you? Have you lived in Megaton your whole life?"

She didn't want to talk about her home – no big deal. At least she seemed willing to hold a conversation with him.

"Nah, I used to live in a place called Underworld. It's a city for ghouls like me, but I've been here the last fifteen years."

"Does everyone there," Cassie began, pausing to find a way to politely phrase her next words, "look like you?"

"More or less," he replied. "You must've been pretty out of it if you haven't heard of ghouls before. It's what happens when you're exposed to a lot of radiation. I like the way Three Dog puts it – too much radiation without the good fortune of dying. Though, I guess it's better than going feral."

"Feral?" she asked.

"Yeah, not all ghouls can talk and do regular stuff. The radiation rotted their brains, turned 'em into little more than screaming animals." He paused, picking up another glass to wipe and dropped his voice. "They'll hurt you, kid, so you best watch yourself out there."

"I apologize. I didn't mean to make you upset."

"Really?" he asked, relieved at her fresh decency. "Sorry if I sound surprised, it's just real rare to find anyone that doesn't treat ghouls with contempt."

"I can't begin to understand why," she replied, tipping her head in his direction. "There's no difference between you and me."

Gob opened his mouth, intending to tell this kid exactly how wrong she was, when the door to the saloon flew open. In strode Moriarty, who proceeded to berate him with his pompous, Irish accent. Cassie flinched when he smacked his bartender on the back of the head as if she received the blow herself, mindful of Simms's warning regarding the bar owner. Despite her distress, which broke Gob's heart to know it was on his behalf, she mustered the words to ask Moriarty about her missing acquaintance. Although he eyed her like a juicy piece of brahmin steak, she marched after him into his private quarters.

Alone once again, Gob wiped down the bar, unable to hear their private conversation over the moaning wind. This smoothskin intrigued him, and he could only hope her innocent ignorance wouldn't get her killed one day.

She reappeared a few minutes later, only sparing him a short, apprehensive glance before pushing through the front door into the storm.

"Ah yes," Moriarty sighed behind him, watching her retreat. "A terrible tragedy. Young lass like that, lost'er father."

Gob gave no indication of hearing him, but supposed the recent loss of a parent was the cause behind her current search for her friend. Any betrayal of interest would end badly for the ghoul, and possibly the smoothskin as well. Besides, Moriarty's stance already screamed "predator;" he didn't need any encouragement.

"Din't help none, she walks in'ere lookin' for a frien'ly face, an' the first ting she runs into is 'yer ugly mug," Moriarty continued, cuffing him again for good measure. "I do suspect we'll be seein' more o'her though."

As Moriarty's boots clomped back into his private room, Gob tossed a glance over his shoulder, grateful the girl distracted Moriarty from noticing the broken dishes. Part of him hoped this smoothskin would stay away – the look in his boss's eye spelled danger for the inexperienced young wanderer – while another part, he thought as he smirked, hoped she'd come back. What with Silver skipping town last week, he no longer had anyone willing to treat him halfway decent. That judgment-free smile, he decided, was worth whatever punishment Moriarty might send his way.


	2. Chapter 2

He didn't have to wait long. A few days later, she walked through the door and immediately settled down at a corner table on the far end of the room. She appeared healthy, at least in the quick glance he got before she slunk down. Well into the evening, there were a few other patrons sitting around the place – some sitting at tables, a few at the bar. Gob didn't have anyone demanding service, but Moriarty walked up to her before he could so much as consider approaching. Her wordless entrance offered little confidence to the cowardly barkeeper, remembering her similarly wordless departure. Perhaps Moriarty had set her straight on the topic of ghouls, or her own experience reinforced their status as second-class citizens in her mind.

Cassie talked with the bar owner, discretely slipping him some caps when no one was looking. Satisfied with the exchange, she leaned back in her seat, resting her head against the stiff wall. Colin attempted to further the conversation, but she declined these attempts with veiled disinterest. Eventually, he returned to the bar and, when that proved uninteresting, withdrew to the back room – no doubt to tap away on his stupid terminal.

With his boss out of sight, the ghoul expected her to approach the bar, exchange a little small talk, request something to eat. Instead, she leaned back in her chair and watched, possibly mulling over what Moriarty said to her. Beside him, the radio crackled, sharp against the gentle murmurings of the inebriated patrons. He refilled a couple glasses and looked up a few minutes later to see Nova talking to her. The girl merely waved her off, and Nova returned to the bar with a tray of dirty dishes.

He shifted closer to Nova, lowering his voice so that only she could hear. "What'd she say to you?" he asked, nodding his head in the direction of the new smoothskin while her attention was diverted by Jericho's husky laughter.

"I asked if I could get her anything," Nova replied, her voice always silky smooth. "She said, 'Maybe later.'"

Gob dropped his gaze, sliding along the bar back to his customary location at the front. For half an hour she did little besides sit in the corner and count bullets. She carried a hunting rifle at her side now, a change from the poorly concealed handgun he noticed last time. Regardless of her distance, he knew her eyes remained on the room. He was slightly wary of her silent seclusion.

The evening progressed normally. Gob served drinks while Nova draped herself against a wall, gorgeous as always. He dodged Jericho's well-aimed whiskey bottle, cringing when a few people laughed. A couple guys sitting at the bar got up to leave, putting their caps on the counter's surface beside their drained glasses for Gob to collect. Moriarty appeared briefly to glance around the bar, but returned to his precious machine after a few words of derision. Gob lifted his gaze to check if the smoothskin was still sitting in the corner and was startled to see her standing in front of him on the other side of the bar.

"Hey," he greeted, restraining his grin. "Can I get you something, smoothskin?"

"Could I have a Nuka-Cola?" she asked.

He nodded and bent over to retrieve the sugary drink. The girl took a seat, watching as he retrieved her requested beverage and placed it in front of her.

She took a quick swig after laying her caps on the bar. Gob noticed the slight changes in her appearance. She was a bit dirtier, but not in an unattractive way. Her face looked thinner, and her eyes smarter, though tired. He only then noticed the unusually pale tone of her skin because of the rosy pallor on her now sun-kissed cheeks. The ghoul slid her caps into his palm when her hands retreated a respectable distance.

Picking up a cloth to wipe out the dirty glasses, he angled himself away from her, wanting to respect her privacy.

"How're you doing this evening?" Cassie asked.

Gob looked around, but the young smoothskin stared directly at him. She was talking to him, hanging on his reply.

"I'm good," he said, turning back in her direction. "Can't complain I guess."

She smiled, at him no less. "That's good to hear."

"So, you find out anything about your missing friend?" he ventured.

"I'm still looking," she replied with a nod. She took another drink of her soda, hiccupping when the carbonation tickled her throat.

"Does that mean you'll be sticking around?" Gob asked, a hopeful smile of his own breaking across his marred features.

"Gob," she said, tilting her head to narrow her eyes in a playful manner, "you must be one of the only friends I have out here. Moira's nice, though a little off in the head. Creel's a bit too keen, and I'm not sure if Simms actually trusts me or is just sitting on the fence. And as for Jericho, he's, well," she said, both of them turning their heads. As if on cue, the ex-raider belched loudly. "I'll just call him an acquired taste," she concluded.

Gob chuckled. "Not sure I would've put it that kindly."

"It's a nice place," she said, "but I'm a little too paranoid to settle any place that has an atomic bomb as the centerpiece."

He scrubbed at the shot glass in his hands, a pleasant buzz setting in – no doubt the result of their easy banter, the way her laughter sounded when layered over his. "You, you really consider me a friend?" he asked, his voice growing quiet.

"Of course. You're a real stand-up guy in my book." She looked down at her drink as if going for a swig, but kept her hands still. "I didn't offend you by calling you that, did I?" she asked, eyebrows pushed up in pleading uncertainty.

"No, not at all," he assured her, drawing closer. "It's just that, you know, a lot of people don't . . ."

By her smile and sad eyes, he guessed she understood. It was a smile he was glad to return.

"You could always stay here, you know," Gob ventured. "Nova rents out rooms. They're a little steep, but I'm sure it's far better than staying in that communal house."

Three Dog's voice crooned behind the radio's static. He wove a tale of heroism visited upon a little settlement known as Big Town. Cassie listened intently, though Gob was more at his leisure to watch her, seeing as he'd heard the news a couple times earlier today. When "Butcher Pete" came on, he leaned towards her.

"Sounds like some new kid is stirring things up," he observed. "I'm glad to see someone stepping up to fight the good fight. This place could sure use some of that."

"Yeah," she replied, though she sounded far away, watching the radio as if it were a coiled snake. "What station is this?" she asked, finally giving him her attention.

"That's Galaxy News Radio," he said. "Between that and the Enclave station, there isn't much else out here."

Cassie paused, her eyes sweeping up and down the bar. "Do you mind if I ask you some questions? Verify a few of the things I've heard out in the wastes?"

He copied her eye movements, glancing over his shoulders. She valued his opinion? Thought he possessed worthwhile advice?

"I don't want to distract you from your job," she added as an afterthought.

"No worries, things are slowing down anyways."

"Is it true that ghouls are healed by radiation?"

"Sure is," he said. "Whereas you smoothskins get sick, we feel energized, stronger. It's as good as a stimpak to us."

She leaned back on the barstool, running her finger down the sweating bottle. "Like the kind coming off the bomb in the middle of town? I'd bet you wander down there all the time to soak up a few extra rads."

"I don't get out that often," he said, his face falling. "Working for Moriarty's a full-time thing. I don't think I've gone outside once in the last week. Last time I did, it was to get Simms to help break up a fight."

"I'm sorry. That sounds like it sucks," she offered, receiving a furtive nod from the ghoul. "So what do you do for fun, Gob? What kinds of things do you enjoy?"

"Fun?" he scoffed lightly. "Can't remember the last time I ever had fun. Moriarty likes it when I look miserable, so I dodge the punches and try to keep my head down." Cassie appeared saddened by this revelation, so he went in another direction. "I used to like reading, back when I was in Underworld. Don't have much time now, but sometimes Nova will slip me something and I'll read a few pages a night."

Her smile grew when he talked, so he continued talking. They chatted about favorite books, Gob's time in Underworld, and the adventure he hoped to find when he left. Cassie was especially interested to hear about Carol and her famous squirrel stew. Gob found that he could speak to this smoothskin easily. She never judged, seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say, and was way too apologetic for her own good. Despite living in a bar for the last fifteen years, Gob warned Cassie about the dangers of the wasteland. He told her about raiders, super mutants, and wild creatures. He told her about Three Dog, President Eden, and the Brotherhood of Steel, and watched as her eyes widened when he described their metal suits of power armor. Whenever Colin would appear, Gob lowered his eyes while Cassie sipped on her cola. She told Gob that she didn't like his boss.

As the evening wound to a close, Cassie excused herself during a break in the conversation and strode up to Nova.

"How much is it for a room?" she inquired.

"For you? A room and some company will run a hundred and twenty caps," Nova replied.

Cassie frowned at the figure, doubting she had that many caps left to spend. "I'm not sure I understand. Company?"

A devious smirk spread across Nova's tantalizing lips. She leaned in close to Cassie's ear and proceeded to explain. A hot blush rising to her face, Cassie jerked back, fully understanding the nature of Nova's offer.

"Don't look so put off, honey," Nova purred, unfazed by her reaction.

"Can I get a room without the company?" she asked, the crack in her voice betraying how flustered she'd become.

"Sure, price is still a hundred and twenty caps though."

Crestfallen, she replied, "I don't think I have that much."

"Well, we're locking up in a bit," the prostitute said, mindful of how much this girl spoke to Gob throughout the evening. She crossed her arms under her full bosom. "We're not going to rush you out, but you might like to know all the same."

Cassie returned to the barstool where her knapsack and hunting rifle waited. Sliding a rag in front of him, Gob came closer.

"Need to sell some stuff to make up the difference?" he offered. "We accept most everything here."

"I still don't think it'd be enough," she admitted, slinging the pack over her shoulder. "No worries," she chirped, tossing her head back to finish the last bit of Nuka-Cola before putting the empty bottle in her pack. "It's a new day in the Capital Wasteland, and every day's a new adventure."

Cassie turned and strolled out the door, leaving a handful of caps at her place on the bar. Gob slid the caps into his hand and gave them a brisk rattle, watching as the door to the saloon closed. He was sure she'd already paid.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a couple weeks before Gob saw Cassie again. In that time, he worried the wasteland finally caught up to her, but she strode in and took a seat across from him as if merely returning from a pleasant vacation. Her smile felt like someone lifted a heavy backpack off his shoulders, and she talked to him with the same friendly easiness, as if their conversation from before never ended.

They fell into a happy routine – Cassie ventured out into the wilderness for a week or two and then returned to tell him of her adventure and hear him fawn over the urban legend from 101. Whenever Moriarty walked in, they would pause mid-sentence, ducking their gazes to appear indifferent to each other, nothing more than customer and server. They agreed that angering or even intriguing the irritable Irishman would be unwise; Cassie especially feared for Gob's wellbeing at the hands of the bar owner. However, she eventually discovered the blonde man avoided overseeing the saloon as much as he could. Between his terminal, drinking himself senseless alongside his buddies, and whatever he did while meandering around Megaton, the pair's covert conversations went on largely uninterrupted.

"DC's a much safer place with this vault hero clearing the way," Cassie said once, after the ghoul redirected her attention to the radio's latest update. "Makes getting around a whole lot easier."

Eventually, Cassie informed him she'd found permanent residence within Megaton, seeing as the giant bomb was no longer armed. She'd now stay in town for a few days following her latest foray so that she could resupply and rest, sometimes visiting the saloon on multiple occasions. Once or twice, the ghoul thought he saw her empty her pockets of every last cap to pay for her meal. Most times, she appeared loaded; at others, dirt poor. Buying Moriarty's overpriced meals was, in his opinion, not the best way to stay fed, not when the incredibly amiable Brass Lantern sat across town with much more variety than the simple meat dishes the saloon offered. Did she keep coming back just to talk to him? Even if it meant forking over her last cap for some tepid mole rat stew? He tried to not focus on the reasons behind this strange smoothskin's behavior – the one that called him her friend – and instead relished in her company for as long as it would last.

Amid one of their usual conversations, Gob discretely bemoaned his duties to the bar, wishing he could have caught a glimpse of Miss 101 working to disarm the bomb.

"What does she look like, you think?" Cassie asked, sipping on a beer.

"She's got to be some kind of avenging angel," Gob replied, half-listening to Three Dog's repeated reports of Reilly's Rangers. "You know, long blonde hair with flowing white robes."

"Complete with a flaming sword in one hand and a Pip-Boy on the other," Cassie supplied, giggling at the humorous image.

"I wouldn't be surprised," Gob said. "Much too good to walk into a place like this at any rate. I'd ask Moira if I could, but you know she never comes in here either. Three Dog says her survival guide is co-authored by the vault girl, so Moira's gotta know a couple things about her."

"I'm pretty sure she's never mentioned white robes or flaming swords. I would've noticed."

"Thanks for letting me borrow your copy by the way. It's good to have something to read again, and I'll be sure to slip it back to you as soon as I finish."

"What are friends for, Gob?"

"Probably for telling you that Billy Creel's been eyeing your back the last ten minutes," he murmured. "He looks like he's gonna come over here."

Cassie let out an exacerbated sigh, her head falling into the heel of her hand. "Not again," she groaned. "What should I do?"

"Storm out," Gob said with a shrug. "He hasn't paid yet, so he won't be able to chase after you right away."

"Like I have a reason to storm out," she muttered, bracing for the impending interruption and running her finger along the amber bottle beside her.

"Sure 'ya do," he replied, putting the dishcloth down. "All you gotta say is, 'Don't touch me, you corpse!' and stomp out."

Horrified, she looked into his eyes. Perhaps she was concerned he'd actually touch her as part of the ruse, he suspected. He wouldn't. Kid was too kind for that. Besides, she'd probably take Billy's wandering hands over his mangled fingers any day.

"Gob," she said, her voice very small.

"Just make it sound convincing," he encouraged, laying a forearm along the edge of the bar across from her. When she didn't move, he continued, "Better make a decision soon. He just stood up."

She remained still as a statue, the look on her face conveying endless loss. In a matter of moments, Creel stood at her side, her opportunity gone.

"Well howdy there, little lady," he greeted, trying to sound smoother than the whiskey on his breath. "This seat taken?"

Cassie looked over her shoulder, as if startled to see him there, before dropping her gaze to the seat he gestured for.

While she conversed with the one-eyed man, Gob shifted down the bar to offer refills and clear away plates. He wasn't surprised the smoothskin got as much unwanted attention as she did. Besides Nova, she was one of the best looking girls in town. Medium height, not too skinny, skin still young and firm, and her smile. Gob knew all too well that smile of hers, when paired with quiet laughter that reached the corners of her eyes, near broke his heart every time she wielded it.

Men like Billy, Stockholm, and even Jericho made overtures in her direction, only to be swatted away like bloatflies. Moriarty made passes out of principle – it was his bar after all, and he took a shine to any piece of meat that wandered through. Gob was glad she shot down their offers, or at least the ones he heard. He'd long since accepted the fact that no smoothskin could ever look at him in that light, but guys like Moriarty and Jericho weren't much of an improvement. Stockholm, on the other hand, he couldn't completely object to. He thought they'd make a nice pair, that was, if Cassie ever became interested. Working the saloon day in and day out didn't make him an expert by any stretch of the imagination, but he did have eyes.

Her raised voice brought the bartender's attention back to the far end of the counter. "I'm being nice, Billy," she said. "Take it as a 'no' and go back to your table."

Putting his hands up in surrender, Creel retreated to his corner with a smug smile. Cassie's head fell, as if suddenly exhausted by the man's pestering. Gob waited until she waved him over with a quick flick of her fingers.

"Nice work, smoothskin," he said, resuming his place across from her. "That's got him off your back for a little while. You want another one of those?" He pointed towards her empty beer.

Cassie nodded, rubbing her knuckles. The ghoul sat another bottle beside her, but she let it rest. Maybe Billy said something to shake her up.

"I'm actually glad you stayed," Gob continued, hoping he wasn't admitting too much. "We don't exactly have the friendliest crowd in here tonight."

"Why'd you say that?" she asked, expression meek as her voice.

Gob fumbled for his words a moment, stunned by her sudden attitude shift. "That I'm glad you stayed?" he asked, cocking his brow.

"You suggested that I yell at you, to get away from Billy," she said, scrubbing the knuckles of her other hand. "Why would you ask me to do that?"

He didn't understand. She looked afraid, hurt even. Instead of answering, he ducked his head, shamefully wondering if he put that hurt there. His hands worked the lip of a shot glass in the silence between them.

Cassie slid the untouched beer out of her way so there was nothing but the bar between them. "Gob," she called softly, raising his cloudy eyes to meet hers. "Let me see your arms, please."

Moriarty was nowhere in sight, as usual, and everyone else appeared engrossed in their own business. He stowed the dirty glass and rag in a compartment underneath the counter, then took a small step to his right so he wouldn't get too close when he laid his forearms across the flat surface.

One hand in her lap, the girl gave his ruined appearance a quick inspection before requesting, "The other side."

Gob dropped his gaze as he turned his limbs until his palms rested flat against the bar, understanding what she wanted him to see. Instead, he saw the stark contrast – his leathery, decomposing flesh a short distance from the clean, flawless arm she left on the counter, parallel to his.

"There's probably more that I can't see, too," she said, her eyes sweeping over him.

The barkeeper withdrew his hands, shame rising in his throat like bile. It was bad enough to look like a zombie; his recurring bruises only further sullied what little skin he had left.

Moriarty emerged from the side room. "Careful lass," he sneered, sliding by, "one touch be all it takes. Then 'yer infected. Wouldn't wan'cha ruinin' that pretty face, now would we?"

She chose not to answer. Instead she popped the top of her neglected beer so he wouldn't harass her for taking up counter space without making a purchase.

After rounding the bar, the saloon owner paused, leaning uncomfortably close. "Why don't'cha join me a little later tonight? We can break into me private supply," he offered.

"Thanks, Moriarty," she said, turning to watch him out of the corner of her eye. "I think I'll pass."

Colin shrugged. "Me door's always open if 'ya change 'yer mind."

Determined, Cassie looked back up at her friend once Moriarty vanished into the background. "I wouldn't want to put you in his path," she confessed. "Give him a reason to, to hurt you."

There she went again, standing up for a useless ghoul like him. That tiny spark of humanity, equality, kindness – it was utterly painful to realize how little he could do for her in return, how little he could reciprocate her gracious nature, the inner beauty she showed him.

He dropped his voice. "I've had worse."

"That doesn't make it right. Everyone in here could've come down on you."

The ghoul took a big breath. "Yeah, they probably would've."

Cassie's eyes widened, understanding flashing across her pupils. "You knew what would happen," she whispered, "knew what they would do to you. But you offered anyway."

Returning his hands to work, he shrugged, avoiding her heavy gaze.

"You would do that? For me?" she questioned.

"What are friends for?" he said after a pause.

Biting her lip, she glanced around the room. "Hey," she said as she leaned forward, hoping to lighten the conversation. "That's two guy's that've hit on me so far. What do you bet we'll see a third by the end of the night?"

Gob cracked a smile. "I'd say your chances are good. The night's still young – just don't threaten to shoot anyone."

"That happened one time," she exclaimed.

Her laugh rang in his ears. It soaked through him like radiation.

Gob moved off to serve other customers while Cassie sipped the rest of her beer, turning the radio up slightly. She tapped her foot on the edge of the barstool to "Let's Go Sunning," an ironic song, she thought, for the hard liquor saloon.

They talked on and off. Three Dog received some assistance from a certain someone, and as a result, GNR now played loud and strong. A lot of folks were pleased about that. Cassie wanted to know about Talon Company, but the ghoul couldn't offer any specifics. Ever concerned for her safety, he warned her to steer clear of traveling mercs and to avoid their headquarters somewhere to the west.

"In case you were interested in joining," he explained, wiping down the bar. "Besides, black really isn't your color."

She made a show of looking down to regard her black t-shirt. "Thanks a lot," she hurled back.

Like a bad fortune reading coming true, it wasn't long before Jericho stalked over to where she sat, laughing at whatever she was laughing at. He swayed gently as the pair became quiet.

"Sounds like everyone over here's havin' a good time," he said, a suspicious grin appearing.

"Can I help you with something?" Cassie asked, leaning in the opposite direction.

"Just wanted to make sure you aren't staying up past your curfew," he replied.

She leered. "If that wasn't meant as an insult, it would almost sound responsible."

"Hey, I'm a responsible kind of guy. Now why don't you be a good little Girl Scout and escort an old guy back home? I'll even show you how to use that thing," he said, pointing at her assault rifle.

"Among one or two other things, I'd imagine?" she replied, giving him an incredulous look.

"What do you say?" he asked, arms held open – for her to fall into, no doubt.

"You look more than capable of walking yourself home."

He stiffened, but kept the smirk. "How about a kiss then?"

She twitched, keeping her body angled away from him. "From you? I don't think I could handle it. I'd be overwhelmed."

"I'll go easy on 'ya," he offered.

"Sarcasm failure," she stated, sighing. "Go away. I'm not interested."

She went to wave him off, but he caught her wrist. Her feet instantly hit the floor as she pulled back. The bar quieted. Gob stood by, helpless to do anything. His friend needed backup. True, she could handle herself on most occasions, but he dreaded having to stand by while she got hurt, utterly useless.

"Just one kiss," he breathed, "then I'm gone. I swear."

"I don't want to kiss you," she repeated, her tone growing hard.

"I think you do," he purred.

"I don't," she chirped, the stress of the situation forcing a sadistic smile over her normally calm features. "In fact, I'd rather kiss _him_."

She threw out her free arm and Gob flinched as if it struck him. It hung between them for a few seconds, all eyes on the situation at the saloon's front.

Momentarily stunned, Jericho released her wrist. His shock melted into a vengeful scowl, insulted by her implication.

"Why you," he seethed, lunging for her shoulders, but she slipped back.

Cassie held her hands up, ready to get in a fistfight with the old raider. Was this the terrified leaf Gob remembered stumbling into him? The inexperienced traveler who shied away from his stare and cowered at his descriptions of super mutants? Now, her eyes were steel. Jaw set, he could see no doubt in her stance.

Moriarty was upon them in an instant, wrapping his arms around their necks in an inviting manner. "Me friends, me friends," he drawled, thoroughly enjoying the show until that point, "let's have none o'this now." He looked at Jericho. "The young lady said no – that's all there is to it I'm afraid. And Cassie," he said, turning his admonishment on her, "there's no need to be usin' that sort o'foul language in'ere."

The girl relaxed as Moriarty's arm fell, gaze distant and lips slightly parted. Jericho gave up the fight as well, allowing his friend to lead him away with the promise of free whiskey. Intrigued chatter in the saloon picked back up, but an agonizing silence remained between the barkeeper and the young wanderer, both frozen in place. Eventually, she managed to break free of her stunned reverie and floated back to her seat at the bar. Gob ran his cloth over the dilapidated surface, neglecting to apply enough pressure to accomplish more than dust removal.

Colin strode back in through the front door, another crisis averted by his tactful hand. Cassie caught his eye on his way to the back room.

"Thank you," she said, earning a warm smile from the owner.

"Tink nothin' of it, m'dear," he replied. "I would'a done the same for anyone."

After he left, the quiet returned. Gob oscillated up and down the bar, avoiding the smoothskin despite her hesitation to leave. Cassie rotated an empty bottle in her hand, knowing she had to say something. Only when he noticed her trembling hand, the brief shiver that ran up her shoulders, did he plant himself in front of her, longing to end her torture.

She stilled in his presence and released the beer bottle, hands sliding into her lap. She couldn't look at him, couldn't face him after what she said. She couldn't take it back.

"I'm sorry," she said at last. "I am so, so sorry."

"Smoothskin," he tried, but didn't know the words to comfort her, not when he saw the way her eyes glistened with moisture.

"I didn't," she stuttered. "You didn't deserve that. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, smoothskin. I know you didn't mean it."

She buried her face in her palms. "The last thing I wanted to do was drag you into this. I'm such a terrible person."

"You? Never," he replied. "You're so good, and kind; it hurts to be around you for very long."

He chuckled, forcing her to regard him with a distressed grin.

"Besides, you've got the short end of the stick on this one, not me," Gob told her. "Some folks, women especially, have been shunned with a prejudice much worse than we ghouls get, just for showing interest in one. It's said we taint them. If I were you, I'd be hoping people took it as an insult, 'cause if they thought you were serious, they'd never come near you again."

"I don't care," she said, frustrated with how graciously he handled her outburst. "When's the last time you were kissed, Gob? If you don't mind me asking, of course."

"I can't even remember, it's been so long," he admitted, smiling at the ridiculousness of her inquiry. "Probably back when I lived in Underworld. Why do you want to know?"

"Don't make me threaten you," she warned.

They laughed, the sound of their voices layering together. Tensions eased, grievances forgiven.

"And you thought my plan for getting a guy off your back was bad," he joked.

"So are you still my friend or what?" Cassie demanded, throwing him a playfully hostile stare.

"Why not? Sure," he said, a dopey grin settling over his scarred features.

"Well, you won the bet," she announced. "Jericho made three. How much do I owe you?"

"Seventeen."

Her shoulders sagged. "That's my bar tab. You're no fun," she chided, slapping the caps on the counter.

He swiped up her payment as she rose to leave. "A pleasure doing business with you," he sternly bellowed, loud enough for the few remaining customers to hear.

"Yeah? The same goes for you," she shot back, ensuring the door closed behind her with a satisfying amount of noise.


	4. Chapter 4

For the two months that followed their first encounter, Cassie's visits were the highlight of Gob's day. She usually came in the mornings, when the bar was empty and Moriarty couldn't complain too much about his socializing, so long as he kept busy. Sometimes they'd sit in silence, enjoying each other's company while listening to the radio. The vault hero was still at large, rescuing little boys and mowing a path through DC's underbelly.

He noticed that the smoothskin upgraded weapons on a regular basis, going from a hunting rifle, to a Chinese assault rifle, to a wicked sniper, to a laser rifle, and finally settling on a stunning plasma rifle, showing him each with ever-growing pride. Her plasma rifle, she told him, was a gift from a dear friend.

Gob couldn't help but gawk a little whenever she walked in with it slung over her back. The body gleamed as if it was plated with pure gold, and indeed, it was worth its weight in gold. A traveling merchant from out west once offered her ten thousand caps for the weapon, but she treasured it. Gob had a coughing fit when he heard the amount, but was sincerely glad his wanderer friend's adventures were so wildly successful. She let him hold it a couple times. His eyes widened, and he remarked on how light it felt, honored to be allowed to run his ruined hands over the crystal barrel where green energy boiled harmlessly. With reverence, he ran his fingers over the gold plate where A3-21 was indented – the serial number, Cassie explained.

The ghoul bartender relished the sight of fire in her eyes whenever Colin would call him a shuffler or smack him around. He couldn't expect her to do anything. Actually he was glad she didn't do anything, and smiled whenever she rebuffed his boss's advances.

"The reason my gun is worth so much," she bragged one time his boss was in earshot, "is because I tamper with the microfusion cells it takes." She knew everyone in Megaton envied her weapon, and if they didn't fear her for holding it, they were about to. "That, on top of other _slight_ alterations, means its shots have more than twice the power of a regular plasma rifle. It can melt a hole straight through three-inch steel, and still have enough kick to kill you and the guy behind you."

Moriarty mostly left her alone after that, but they remained discrete in his presence.

One day, near closing time, she walked in with a blinding smile. She'd found the person she was looking for. He was working in Rivet City, and Cassie couldn't be happier.

"On the way back though," she teased, reaching into her knapsack and smiling with clean teeth, "I made a pit stop in Underworld." She slid an envelope toward him. "From Carol."

Checking to make sure Moriarty hadn't reappeared, Gob nearly choked up when he reached out to take the letter. Knowing it was full of words of love and care, he reverently put it in his pocket to read later that night.

She went on to tell him her impressions of Underworld, remembering to praise Carol's squirrel stew. It saddened her to know most folks, particularly the Brotherhood of Steel, looked down on ghouls. She said she'd never run into a group of kinder, more sincere people, and recounted some of their pre-war stories with wonder.

Gob thought she'd have to pick her jaw up off the counter when he let slip that he was a pre-war ghoul as well. Suddenly, they had an entire new area of discussion to explore, and Cassie demanded every piece of it. Though he couldn't recount a couple centuries of living all at once, he told her of his time serving as a communications technician during the Great War, about the family he once had.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, though she learned only a few days ago that some ghouls were pushing two centuries.

"You didn't ask," he said, shrugging as her infectious grin reached his mouth.

The pair looked up as Nova came down the staircase. The working woman shared a friendly smile with the barkeeper before returning to her spot by the wall, ready for more business.

Cassie's smirk turned devious. Leaning towards him, she whispered, "When're you gonna tell her that you like her?"

"Who?" he retorted, flabbergasted when her lightly accusing stare carried across the room to the attractive redhead. "Nova?"

"Aw, c'mon man, you gotta go for it."

"She deserves someone a lot better than me," he replied, furiously scrubbing a plate. Stealing another glance at his alluring coworker, he noticed Cassie's smile grow wider.

"Gob, you're blushing," she teased.

"No I'm not."

"You are."

"Stop it."

Moriarty poked his head into the bar, screeching about locking up with as much kindness as a super mutant, before disappearing again.

Cassie finished the rest of her dinner and counted out the caps she owed. Instead of placing the caps on the bar, she held them out in her clenched fist. Gob looked at her for a few moments before cautiously extending his own hand. As she rotated her wrist to allow the caps to spill into his hand, he couldn't help but notice the way the side of her hand brushed his palm, smooth skin touching his missing skin without reservation or disgust. Her hand fell and she smiled, leaving him frozen in place as she left. A prickling warmth traveled up his body, one that left him nervous and bewildered.

Feeling the letter through the fabric of his pants, he decided that she was a truly good person. If she was like this everywhere she went, which he suspected, she might end up joining forces with the vault savior. He imagined Cassie fighting the good fight, plasma rifle cradled in her arms – an ordinary waster with short fawn hair and golden skin standing beside the blonde angel dressed in white, plasma rifle and flaming sword glowing. An unlikely pair, but the only one with a shot of bringing order to the Capital Wasteland.


	5. Chapter 5

Moriarty stepped into the cool afternoon air, looking down over Megaton's citizens and businesses. Lighting up, he leaned his elbows on the balcony railing. He made a habit of taking a break before the evening rush. During that time, he liked to watch the interactions that took place beyond his walls, listen to the conversations of folks who didn't frequent his establishment.

He heard a loud crash on the walkway behind him and spun with his sidearm drawn.

"Good golly dang it, Cass," he exclaimed as she stood from a crouch. "'Ya scared the livin' daylights outta me." He holstered his pistol, drawing out another cigarette to light. "Can't 'ye do anythin' like a regular parson?"

"I was waiting for you," Cassie said, not in response to his rambling, but to state fact.

Normally, he might revert to a charming smile and level tone with her self-admitted efforts to seek his attention, but his pounding pulse weakened his ability to care. "Doesn't mean 'ya have to dangle 'yerself off'a me roof like a vulture and give me a near heart attack," he threw back, trembling hands settling as smoke tendrils wound their way over his shoulder.

Her posture imitated that of a faithful canine, patiently waiting until its master decided whether or not to go out. The red-faced Irishman didn't intimidate her – she'd grown accustomed to his outbursts and merely caressed the leather belt that held A3 to her back, ready if voices raised beyond a predetermined level.

"What do 'ya want?" Colin snapped. "Daddy wandered off again?"

She narrowed her eyes and shifted her weight between legs. "It's private."

"Not interested," he replied, turning back to the railing.

"It involves a whole bunch of caps."

He broke a warm grin, the promise of payment calling out to him. If her armaments indicated anything about her purse, he could be in for a substantial fee. "Would 'ya like to talk inside?" he offered.

"I think that would be best," she agreed with a purr.

Holding the door open for her, Moriarty led her through the empty saloon.

"Oi, you," he barked, rattling the poor ghoul taking inventory at the shelves. "We are not to be disturbed. You got that?"

Gob made a timid noise of acquiescence and shrunk back as the smoothskin followed his boss into the private room behind the bar. Despair gnawed at the back of his neck. She hadn't even glanced in his direction as she stalked past, her stare firmly set on Moriarty's back. The whole thing didn't sit well with him. Something could be terribly wrong – it had to be terribly terrible if the smoothskin couldn't handle it on her own, and she was one of the strongest people he knew. Would she share it with him if he asked? He dreaded the things that went on in that private room.

Moriarty invited the girl to sit down, producing a bottle of whiskey and pouring her a glass. He poured himself one as well.

"'Ya never cease to amaze me, young lass," he said, sitting opposite her. "Just when I tink I have 'ya figured out, 'ya throw me a new'un. So, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

She folded a leg over her knee, holding her glass aloft as she leaned back in her seat. "I want to rent the services of one of your employees."

The older man's grin grew, no doubt imagining certain interactions between the youthful vault girl and his particularly attractive barmaid. Well, well, well – this was indeed a surprise.

"Pardon me silence," he said after a few moments. "Once again, 'ya leave me without words. Now, I won't pry – I know better to get involved in 'yer choices – and I fully understand 'yer instinct to seek out a managerial figure in this kind o'situation. I really do, but there's no need to be shy. 'Yer among friends here. Discretion is part o'the business."

"I'm told I don't do many things in the normal way," she said, swirling the golden brown liquid.

"A wee bit nervous, are we?" Colin guessed. "Too intimidated to approach Nova in front ov'a full house? I understand."

Cassie brought her glass up to her lips, waiting until he had a mouthful of whiskey. "I'm not here for Nova."

Much to her disappointment, he didn't choke on his drink or let whiskey pour out his nose. The seasoned drinker stifled his confusion, setting his glass on the table between them while she sipped calmly.

"I don't follow," he admitted.

"I don't want Nova," she repeated, resting her arm. "That's why I came to you."

It was downright painful watching his thought process creep to life. Finally, realization dawned like an unpleasant taste, and his face contorted with each grain of understanding.

"'Ya can't mean," he ventured, his voice restrained. "Y'aren't suggestin'."

The girl kept a straight face, lifting her eyebrows as if to challenge him.

"Gob?" he bellowed.

She blinked when a couple specks of spittle flew her way. The door beside them flew open, aforementioned ghoul leaning in. The intrusion startled the bar owner as much as her implication.

"You wanted me?" the ghoul asked.

"Get out!"

He flew away from the doorframe, shutting them in once again.

Face flushed, Moriarty turned on the vault girl. "Do I have this right?" he seethed, lowering his voice. "'Ya want to lease, for yer carnal enjoyment, _him_?"

"Well, when you put it like that, it just sounds wrong." She took another sip.

"Cassandra," he growled.

"Is that a no?" she deadpanned, bored with his anger.

Composing himself, the man sat up straighter. "M'dear, you insult me," he began. "Contrary to popular opinion, Gob is an employee, not a slave. I can't simply prostitute 'im out like a piece o'property."

She waited, a coy smile playing at her lips.

"Nova performs her trade willingly," he continued, "and she be one o'the most skilled women I've ever seen. She will not leave 'ye disappointed."

"Moriarty, I'm sure you suspect that I have very little experience in the area of physical relations, and you'd be right," she said. "I'd simply rather have someone closer to my level of expertise." He tossed back another glass. "Moreover, she is a woman."

"Not a wee bit sexist now, are we?" She leveled him with a glare. "If all 'ya need is a man between 'yer legs, look no farther. In fact, I'd reckon 'ya get offers everywhere 'ya go."

"I need something more professional," she replied. "More controlled. Should that ever change, I may very well take you up on that offer, but for now, I want the ghoul, someone I can exercise power over."

"I'm sorry," he insisted, "I simply cannot do it. It would violate me code of ethics."

Cassie smirked, a dangerous look for such a young woman. "And now we get to the subject of payment," she muttered.

"I must refuse," he carried on. "To do so would ruin 'ya forever. As a friend of your father's, I cannot allow it. In this, I'yam firm."

"Discretion is part of the business," she observed, halting him with the sudden silkiness of her tone. "How much does Nova normally charge? A hundred? Bit more than that?"

The bar owner watched in silence, unable to nod as her predatory eyes fell on him.

"How much would she charge for the whole evening? And night, room included."

"Hmph, well," he mused, stroking his beard. He considered the number of customers Nova might get in a night and the tables she served on top of that. "If it were Nova, no less than five hundred."

She crossed her arms. "I'll pay you a thousand," she said. "Since I'll be taking your bartender."

A thousand caps could keep his booze flowing for a good while.

"Interested yet?" she inquired.

Shaking his head to clear it of her spell, the older man donned a curious look. ""Ya really are serious about this?"

"I'm all business when it comes to pleasure," she promised.

"Fifteen hundred," he countered, "to start."

"Fifteen hundred?" she echoed. "Since when is a cowardly ghoul worth more than your best girl?"

"It be your sick fetish, not mine," he said. "Discretion is part o'the business, but it's also part o'the price, little missy. Unless 'ye want 'yer little evening announced along with the'ouse specials, you'll agree that's more than fair."

"Fine," she said. "My reputation's worth that much. Fifteen hundred it is."

Negotiations going his way, Moriarty smirked with a wicked thought. "You surprise me, little lady. An' here I thought you liked the shuffler."

"False hope," she replied, waving off his concern. "You've never seen despair until you show them the light for so long, only to snatch it away."

His grin intensified – he'd never seen this side of the saintly vault girl. He liked it. He poured her another glass of whiskey.

"Now that we've settled on a price," he said, "we can talk about insurance."

"Insurance? Really?" she questioned. "I know for a fact Nova's services don't require insurance."

"Ah, but she be a tough girl," Colin replied. ""Yer askin' for me fragile little bartender, nary a hard day's work in'is life. Since I can't tell 'ya how rough 'ya can or can't be with'im, 'ya gotta be prepared to pay the cost should he, say, be unable to work the next day." Then again, even if the he wailed in agony, he had half a mind to make the ghoul work anyhow. "Another fifteen hundred to be kept here, in me safe. If 'ya leave'im in workin' order, 'ya collect it on 'yer way out. If not, I hold onto it an' cover me losses."

She suspected Moriarty would keep this additional fee regardless of how rough she was, but fortunately, one completely innocent byproduct of being the hero of the wastes was deep pockets. Constantly removing heads and reallocating property meant she had one of the largest weapons collections apart from the Brotherhood, along with every creature comfort to be desired and bags upon bags of frivolous spending money.

"That ain't askin' too much, is it?" he challenged, returning her attention to the bargain.

"Insurance – what the heck. Let us eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die," she replied, "and I can't take it with me."

He rose his glass, and she hers, and they clinked together in the manner of good friends. She wore an easier smile, the smooth whiskey relaxing her muscles. A midday nap sounded like a real treat.

"Now, collateral," he said, downing another swallow.

"You're pulling my leg," she said, her tone flat. "I thought I was arranging a romp session, not signing the next Declaration of Dependence."

"Fear not," he assured her. "This be the last ting I will ask 'ye, I promise."

"What kind of collateral could you possibly need? You've already got your insurance fee."

"Ah true, but this is about the lad's obligations to me," he explained. "There's the matter o'the small debt he owes me, on account of m'kind heart rescuin'im from slavers. The zombie represents a substantial investment, 'ya see."

"You don't trust me," she said, almost pleased with herself. She crossed her arms over her chest again. "You think I would just steal your ghoul, for what – kicks? He'd be no use to me in the wastes, probably dead by lunchtime."

"I be but a humble saloon owner, lass," he said. "I have to tink o'these sort o'tings. Now, the way this works is very similar to the insurance caps: you leave something in my care o'relatively the same value o'the ting I'm putting in 'yer hands. When he returns to me, I return 'yer item to you."

Sounded like he already had an "item" in mind. Wishing to end the tiresome talk, Cassie sighed. "What kind of collateral do you want, Moriarty? A crate of Nuka Quantum? The deed to my house? My firstborn child?"

"Let's say," he drawled, eyes roaming the room, "that shiny rifle on 'yer back."

Obscured by her folded arms, one hand tightened around the leather strap that ran across her chest. "My rifle?" she questioned, face falling. She quickly regained her composure, leading off with a chuckle. "I'm sorry, but I can see the short end of the stick when it's handed to me. There's no way he's worth that much to you. The collateral needs to be fair."

Moriarty's eyes sparkled with victory. "It 'tis fair," he said smoothly. "The poor boy means so much more to me than some petty debt."

She stared at him, jaw set in a frown that was no longer charmed by his wiles. Her insides boiled like the plasma rifle on her back. Whether or not it was his intention, she found herself asking how badly she wanted this deal to go through.

"Ah," he continued, "have I found the one ting the infamous wanderer values above all else?"

She paused, thinking out her next move. "I still say it's a bum deal. What's your incentive to stick around and not run off with my caps and gun?"

"Why, this place," he replied, gesturing with open palms. "Me own palace, open to the public. And Gob o'course – he's part o'the package." At her doubting gaze, he redoubled his argument. "I give 'ya me word, as a businessman, and a gentleman, 'yer items will be safely stored under me lock an' key. No funny business, and they'll be returned to 'ya as our agreement specifies."

"If I knew it was going to turn into a full-blown contract, I would've got it in writing," she replied dryly.

"We could bring the sheriff in on our little arrangement," he said, "a neutral third party. 'Yer items would be safe, me bar boy protected."

She knew it was a bluff. He didn't want to involve Simms any more than she did. Besides, the old Regulator wouldn't dare go up against her gun, not with the reputation she'd given it. No, the only thing that would help get her baby back was the arsenal she kept at home, and she wasn't scared of Moriarty.

"Sheriff Simms? Don't bother."

"Well lassie, unless you want a chaperone sittin' in the room while 'yer doin' 'yer thing, 'ya best lay down some collateral."

She chewed her bottom lip. "The most I've been offered for this gun is ten thousand caps. Give me a few days – I could bring that amount, along with the other payments, and that can be your collateral."

"No," he replied, leaning back. "I'm makin' the deal here, an' I say it needs to be 'yer gun. Besides, I hear it's one-of-a-kind, irreplaceable, much like me Gob, so I know 'ya won't leave without it. That keeps tings safe on my end."

Cassie sat in silence for a good long while, her buzz killed, her smile deflated. The wasteland had all but devoured her optimism alive, suddenly fearing having to walk back into its wide open spaces without the golden barrel resting in her hands or its weight at her back. She thought of Harkness, an unlikely ally at such a crucial turning point in her life. He had such fear in his eyes, trembling while she stood before him, knowing the truth about his past, holding his future in her dainty hand. She killed that man, Zimmer, him and his good-for-nothing bodyguard. At the time, the immediate outlook was kill two to save one, but she hoped many more like Harkness would be spared as a result of her actions. In his gratitude, the android in disguise gave her his prized possession, placed it freely into her hands. He saw the way she wielded her power over him and knew she could be entrusted with more.

Now, she faced losing his most prized possession – her most prized possession. She imagined what harm such a weapon could do in the hands of a fiend like Moriarty, and at her most vulnerable moment, sleeping in one of his upper rooms.

"'Yer the one that came to me with this request," the saloon owner reminded her, "not the other way 'round. Gonna have to give a wee bit to get wha'cha want."

Her thoughts rolled over to something else, something that made her brain crackle with determination. She needed this.

Pushing her chair away from the table as she stood, she stared down the presumptuous Irishman. "Deal," she said, the finality of her voice wiping the smirk from his face.

A bit more lightheaded than she, Moriarty eventually rose to his feet as well. "Well Miss Cass," he said, "I didn't want to, but 'ya talked me into it. When would you like me to arrange this evening? Tonight?"

"Tomorrow," she replied. "I'll bring the payment then."

"Can contain 'yerself until then, can 'ya? Very well," he said, extending his hand. "I'll have ev'ryting set up for 'ya tomorrow, and I'll chuck'im up there at ten."

She grasped his hand to shake. "Ten? That hardly justifies the amount I'm paying at all. Seven."

"Nine," he countered. "I have me afternoon rush to tink of."

"Eight," she snapped, "and I have him until he starts work in the morning."

A scowl lurked behind his smirk, still clutching the girl's hand firmly.

"C'mon man," she said, "I let you get away with all that insurance and collateral nonsense."

Moriarty sighed. "Fine," he relented and let go of her hand. "I still say 'yer crazy, but I won't begrudge 'ya this harmless request."

"Not at the rate I'm paying, you better not," she replied.

"'Yer not wrong."

"One last request?" she asked, continuing at his shrug. "Keep the ghoul in the dark about who's renting his time."

"What's 'yer game?" Moriarty asked, stalking closer.

She purred, "Fearful suspense leads to sweet relief, ripe for the plucking."

"And here I thought'cha was some sweet little ting," he said.

"Those news reports don't even begin to do me justice," she agreed.

"I'm relieved. There may be hope for the wasteland after all."

Nodding, she adjusted her rifle sling and walked to the door but hesitated when he called out.

"'Ya might wanna tink about," he suggested, "wearin' a disguise. Just a thought."

"A disguise?"

"'Ya know, somethin' that covers 'yer face," he explained. "Hey, 'yer the one that's concerned fer discretion. I'd suggest a completely diff'rent look, nothin' that gives away who 'ya are."

"Oh," she replied, "yeah, that sounds like a good idea."

"'Ya do understand the concept of subtlety, right?"

"Don't worry," she said. "You take care of your end, I'll handle mine."

Quiet voices greeted her as Cassie entered the saloon's main room. A few folks indulged in a hot lunch or early beer, mindlessly going about their lives. Gob returned from the far tables with a short stack of plates, catching her eye immediately. He smiled, perhaps relieved she was finally out of that back room.

She rounded the bar, intending to head straight home for a shower and a nap.

"Hey, don't go," the ghoul pleaded. He set the plates down and went to stand at the front of the bar, inviting her to take her normal seat.

She approached, leaning her hands up against the cold surface. "Oh, Gob," she said with a sigh, "today's not really a good day. I'm sorry."

"Everything okay, smoothskin?" he asked, writing concern across his gnarled features.

"Yeah, it's," she said, looking down to shake her head, "it's fine. It's fine."

"You sure?" he asked. "It's just that, I get concerned for 'ya, you know?"

His voice tumbled like gravel down her ear canals, and she closed her eyes. "I know, I," she stuttered.

"And you know that if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here for you," he said, looking at her as if he wanted to reach out and take her hand.

She gave him a sad half-smirk. "You really are my only friend out here, Gob."

He returned the smirk, troubled by the smoothskin's shaky condition and unable to offer more than the remains of a listening ear. She didn't move away, merely chewed her lip and looked at her shoes.

"You heading out again soon?" he ventured, hoping to perk her up.

"I don't know, haven't made up my mind yet."

A third voice assaulted his senses, drawing his attention to a far table. "Oi, zombie," the man yelled, "another round of squirrel bits over here." He appeared to be a scavenger, someone Cassie didn't recognize.

"Be right there," Gob called back, but when he turned around, Cassie stood at the door, one hand on the knob.

"I'm sorry," she said before disappearing in a wash of wasteland sunlight. He watched her go, nailed to the spot like the rickety floorboards underfoot. The bar became very quiet to the bewildered ghoul until the only ghost of a sound he could make out was a sweet sadness ricocheting off the rickety walls – the echo of her laughter intertwining with his.


	6. Chapter 6

Gob worried about her for the rest of the evening, head shooting up whenever the door at the front opened, but she did not reappear. He couldn't understand it – barely a week ago she sat at the bar, smiling radiantly while impersonating a super mutant having an argument with a billboard. What changed?

He didn't see her the morning of the next day either. Without their early chat, the saloon fell deathly silent. The radio played, and that buoyed his spirits, but no one cared about the vault angel besides the smoothskin. He wiped the bar until he was certain more was coming off his hands than the crusty counter. Nova gave him a pitying look.

The lunch crowd came and gradually melded into the afternoon regulars – still no sign of the smoothskin. He wanted to ask around, see if anyone passed her in town, but doing so could land her in another kind of trouble. Maybe she set out on another grand adventure, trading the safety of Megaton for the safety of her trusty plasma rifle and her quick reflexes. Maybe the answer was out there somewhere. She'd come back dusty but beaming, order a light meal, and talk to him for hours.

A man shouldered past him, heading to the side room. One of Moriarty's suppliers by the look of him. He wore a heavy overcoat and a blastmaster helmet and carried a burlap parcel over one shoulder and a green duffel bag over the other. Suppliers usually left out the back door, so he was glad he wouldn't have to risk another glance at the eyes of the soulless gas mask – and people said ghoul eyes appeared hauntingly empty. In his experience, the wide, shining eye guards of a power armor helmet or anything similar were much creepier.

Gob went back to fretting over the one smoothskin that showed him kindness. Those Children of Atom followers didn't count – they gave reverence as arbitrarily as normal folk gave scorn. Nova's voice drifted to where he stood leaning on the bar with his chin in one hand. He flicked his stare to her corner, idly counting the men that swarmed around her. Two at once. No big deal, he saw four one time. He picked up a cloth and began to clean. Dirty glasses, clean glasses, he washed them all. The door opened as folks came and went. He didn't look up. It wasn't her. He scrubbed the plates, the silverware, pausing only long enough to refill a glass or clear away a vacated table.

A customer at a far table waved for his service, a mercenary woman traveling with the caravans judging by her armor. Automatically, his feet carried him in her direction.

"Oh no 'ya don't," a voice behind him growled, and he was wrenched up from behind by his shirt collar.

Panicking briefly, he flailed as he was propelled forward, scrabbling for purchase on the floor that flew under him. The hand and voice belonged to Moriarty. He recognized this when they paused long enough for his boss to snap at Nova to take care of the female customer. He was pushed towards the stairs, nearly tripping multiple times as they started to climb.

"M-Moriarty, sir," he stammered, naturally fearful under the heavy hand of his employer.

"Shut 'yer gob, Gob," the man barked, hoisting him up the last couple steps before flinging him bodily into the first room at the top of the stairs.

It took a short moment for the ghoul to observe the wide walls, the full-sized bed on a proper wooden frame with wrinkled sheets. This was the room Nova did her work.

Moriarty closed the door behind him, looming over his terrified bartender who inched away from him with a pitiful whimper.

"Today's 'yer lucky day, Gob m'boy," he announced. "I've got a new job for 'ya to do."

"A-a new job?" he asked, trembling all over.

"That's right. Don't'cha worry 'bout the bar. Nova will be taking over 'yer duties while 'ya take over hers."

His eyes widened, and the heartbeat in his ears grew louder. His voice sounded like empty air. "Hers?"

"Are we a broken record tonight, 'ya delusional shuffler?" Moriarty patronized. "Yes. Her. Job. Do I need to explain to 'ya what she does?"

Gob didn't need another reminder. Besides being able to hear most of the things that happened upstairs, Nova had been kind enough to share many of her traumatic experiences with him. The pain, the fear, unanswered screams and no one stepping in to aid her. She'd been taken against her will more times than she could count, and it made him glad that he was safe behind the bar where he could brace himself against thrown beer bottles and harsh kicks to the ribs. But now he was in this room, backed up against the bed, shaking because he knew exactly what went on in this room.

"Be glad I ain't makin' 'ya put on a dress and fetch 'yer own customers," Moriarty said, leaning over him. "Anyhow, it's all arranged. No need to worry." His boss's stare bore into him, triumphant and smug with a thick layer of plain anger. "Well? Use 'yer words boy!"

His mouth moved, but at first nothing came out. Finally, his dust-choked tongue conveyed a rational thought past all the manic screaming. "You sold me?" he croaked.

"No, no o'course not," he said gently. "No, 'yer much too valuable to me to merely sell off. 'Yer more, on loan."

Gob's breaths came in shuddering gasps, his eyes blurring as he gazed up into the face of his employer. If he still had the appropriate ducts, he'd be on the verge of tears.

"Don't look'it me like that," Colin went on. "'Ya want to pay off 'yer debt so 'ya can leave, don't'cha? Run on home to mammy? Well, I took it upon m'self to help you do just that. This won't pay it off, but 'yer gettin' close, Gob. What's'it that fella Three Dog says? Don't lose hope? Yeah, don't lose hope, 'ya dirty rotten ghoul."

Moriarty straightened, smirking as another wave of trembling seized his smaller body. What an utterly pathetic waste of space.

"'Yer gonna wait here 'til someone comes for 'ya. In the meantime, relax, put 'yer feet up," he said, gesturing to the bed. Sweet venom dripped from his words.

Moriarty gave the scene a single nod of approval before turning to leave.

"Please," Gob begged, unsure how to finish the plea, but Moriarty spun on him.

"So help me," Moriarty fumed, "you'll do what they say or 'ya won't live to see tomorra', 'ya worthless sack o'blood."

The bar owner ripped the door open and slammed it shut, leaving Gob alone inside the large room. There was a metal click, locking him in. Trembling uncontrollably, the ghoul's stare flashed around the space. Walls higher than the sky closed him in, and a single light bulb hummed overhead, watching him like a giant eyeball. The room smelled different from the bar. No longer surrounded by the warm scents of food and alcohol, he drowned in a scent that was pointedly human – their breath, their bodies. Nova's perfume was there, but it tasted sickeningly sweet without her.

Something brushed the back of his head as he shook – one of the airy cotton sheets that spilled off the sides of the large mattress. He darted away from the bed and backed into a corner, becoming as small as he could. Cheers and calls from the bar reached up to him, but their voices echoed like far away memories.

He rubbed his arms and then all over his body as his skin began to crawl. The sensation made the ghoul nervously aware of every small piece of himself. He felt not only his skin, but the muscles and tendons below, his tightly constricted internal organs and sandpaper bones. He dreaded what was about to happen to him, the feeling of strange hands on his body. It felt like they were there already, holding him in place, running up his back.

Putting his head between his knees, he closed his eyes and covered his ears, blocking out everything he could. His clothing strangled him; the cold floor tickled him. What would they do to him? What would he be forced to do? A choked sob wretched itself free of his throat. He couldn't fight back, couldn't defend himself. He pulled his shirt tighter, clinging to the way it covered him like a shield. In another moment, it might be gone.

Would it be a man? The thought terrified him. His mind suddenly replaced Nova's face with his in her stories, and he shuddered as he tried to rid himself of the images that covered the inside of his eyelids. They wouldn't stop. He was hyperventilating. There was a giant stranger. He was small, so very small. The stranger's face was dark, pinpricks of light from his eyes angling down at him. He was helpless beneath the man, tossed onto the suffocating sheets and sinking deep as he was pushed down. Would a woman be any better? Instead of lying helpless against the assault of hands and flesh, would he be the one forced to action? Her voice would hollow him out, her hands searing his bones. She would use him. They both would. He would be used. Taken. Broken.

He sat and shook, unable to stop the scenes that played before him, unable to fight back even in his imagination. Until his brain could no longer manifest new and terrible ways to torment him, he remained wedged in the corner. When he opened his eyes at last, he was gasping for breath. He was still alone in the cage-like room, the glowing eyeball watching his every move.

Gob didn't know how long he'd sat there, waiting for his fate to come. He could no longer imagine what might happen to him, only wait. His thoughts ferried him down to the bar, where the smiles were harmless and the hands demanded booze. Would he ever make it back there? How many miles sat between him and the familiar countertop? Roaming the saloon, his mind rejoiced at every dirty plate or cigarette butt he came across. A boot reached out, causing him to trip. Jericho's booming laugh enveloped him, and he couldn't help but beam as he stood to dust himself off. The insulting names were music that played from the radio on the bar. He passed Nova, stepping through a trail of her perfume, soft and inviting yet harmless. Coming to Moriarty, he was shoved up against the bar and he latched on, clinging to it for dear life as impossible tears of joy rolled into the divots of his cheek. His gaze lifted.

Smoothskin. The sights and sounds of the saloon faded until she was the only thing there, floating in the void. Her short brown hair formed a halo around her smiling face. He reached for her, but he was not there either, only her.

He opened his eyes, back in the room again, but thought of the smoothskin. He yearned for her kindness. She never asked anything in return. Staring at his palm, he felt her hand slide across his, a fleeting touch. Had it been an accident? Was that part of his imagination too? Another torment?

She was so strong. From the moment he met her, he recognized the determined resolve of a survivor. She came back. She came back to him. She called him "friend." Alternating Nuka-Cola and beer was her routine – the factory-sealed drinks the only safe option given Moriarty's uncouth habits with his liquor still. She was part of his routine. Her laughter. When she laughed, he didn't feel pain.

He didn't realize his trembling stopped. She wouldn't want him to be like this, cowering in a corner. She wouldn't be afraid. Eyes blazing, she'd shout and laugh and flex her fingers, crumbling the door under the confidence of her smile. She was no prisoner.

The thought of her strength burned through his muscles, and he pulled himself to his feet. He could be strong, like her. If he was even half as strong, he knew he could do anything. Pacing the floor, he avoided the bed as it waited like the jaws of a deceiving trap. He frowned, balling his hands into fists. Her courage reinforced his bones. Back and forth, back and forth he strode. A long while had passed since Moriarty locked him in. He was alone – there was no one to watch him, no one to boss him around. Was this what she felt? Out in the wasteland, a surge of independence that demanded everything you were? He rolled his shoulders, popping the vertebrae in his neck and feeling adrenaline spike through his nerves. He felt good. He could take on the entire wasteland – cut a swath through DC, leave a trail of disemboweled raiders and super mutants in his wake, their blood a line of medals on his dirty bartender's shirt.

A sharp click snatched him from his reverie, and he stilled. His heartbeat drummed against his skull, lungs held tight. The door opened slowly, and there in the yawning hole stood the figure in a gas mask. Gob's blood ran cold as the menacing creature crossed the threshold, coming straight for him. He backed up, a sharp pain meeting the back of his head when he hit the wall. The door closed, stretching black eyes of the facemask following him to his new position. His chest burned with each gasp of frozen air. The person took a step forward. Large, gloved hands surged towards him. The ghoul wailed, falling to the floor, back in the same corner. His fear drank up the smoothskin's strength, coiling itself around him as his fate loomed closer.

Eyes wide, he watched with an endless string of incoherent sobs as the figure paused in their approach. Gloved hands lifted to the helmet, set to reveal the face of the man who bought him, held ownership over every fiber of his defenseless body.

When the helmet lifted, he wailed again, seeing the smoothskin's stunned face atop the heavy brown coat. Thinking it a panic-induced hallucination, he buried his face in his arms, trembling and gasping for air that never reached his lungs.

"Gob, Gob," her voice desperately called to him. How much more real could this hallucination get? Surely he was about to die. "Gob, look at me," her voice pleaded.

The entire room appeared to be shaking, but when he pulled his eyes up, there she was, kneeling on the floor beside him. She wore her town clothes, and her hair was slightly tousled. Looking behind her, Gob recognized the person from before but now reduced to a puddle of brown cloth with the blastmaster helmet sitting on top, it's gaze turned away from him.

"It's me, Gob," she continued to say gently. Her eyes were wide, no hint of a smile on her lips. She looked almost fearful.

"Smoothskin?" he choked between sobs.

Nodding, she told him, "It's gonna be okay. It's gonna be okay."

"Y-you're really here," he said.

"I'm really here," she affirmed, giving him the tiniest of smiles. "You're safe."

Safe. His remaining fear washed over him all at once, and he cried beside her. Without tears, he sobbed and moaned and gasped for breath, all the while hearing her soothing voice reassuring him that she was still there. She didn't move closer, didn't touch him, simply let him cry it out.

After a few minutes, his sobs slowed. His entire body ached, and when he looked into her eyes, she smiled at him. It took another couple minutes before he could form words, but she waited patiently, her presence like an impervious barrier of protection.

The ghoul didn't understand. Confusion replaced his anxiety but could not smother it completely.

"But Moriarty," he stammered, "he said, he said someone bought me. Bought, bought my . . ." His voice trailed over, shivering as he ducked his head.

"There's only me," she pleaded. "Don't worry. No one else is coming through that door." While he calmed down again, Cassie's face fell. "I paid Moriarty," she said, pulling away slightly when a whimper escaped with his breaths. "It's okay, it's okay. Nothing's going to happen. I would never do something like that. You're my friend. It's okay. You're safe."

Suddenly, he felt his first pricks of fear when he looked at the smoothskin. He didn't know this person. She'd always shown him such kindness. What would make her want to do something like this?

"I don't understand," he sobbed.

"Look, I paid Moriarty for your time," she explained. "He thinks it's for something different, but it's not. I would never hurt you, Gob – you can trust me. I just, I wanted to get you away from that bar. Give you a chance to relax, to speak freely."

"N-nothing's gonna happen?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said, her voice sure and strong.

His face relaxed, and he leaned his head against the wall. Could this be real? Was he truly safe? He shivered occasionally, but he'd cried himself out for the most part.

"I can only imagine how terrified you must've been," she said, trying to comfort him. "I'm sorry."

"Terrified?" he echoed. "I thought I was gonna die."

"Are you okay now?" she asked after a pause.

"Yeah, I'm okay now."

She smiled, finally succeeding in drawing a grin of his own.

"So, what happens now?" he asked, still mildly unsure of the situation. He was with the smoothskin, alone, with a bed as the only furniture in the room.

"Now, we can do whatever we want." She reached behind her and dragged over a backpack. "For the next twelve hours, there's no bar to work, no Moriarty to listen to. I don't have to stay the whole time if you don't want me to, but this is essentially your time off, a mini-vacation. We can sit and talk. I brought food," she went on, shoveling items out of the backpack and onto the floor, "I brought books. We can read. You can finally get a full night's sleep. Whatever you want."

He gave her a disbelieving look. Twelve hours? Did he hear that right? That must be until tomorrow morning, at least. How much did she have to pay his boss for this?

"And don't you try to tell me you get enough sleep," she admonished. "A four-hour nap before going back to the bar at eight hardly counts. I want you to get a stupid amount of rest."

"How did you know how much I sleep?" he asked.

"I've spent a lot of time sitting on the roof," she admitted. "Kinda hard not to hear what goes on in here."

"That was you?" Gob asked. "Huh, so that's who Moriarty keeps yelling at to get down."

"I hear him when he beats you, too," she said softly, "and I get so mad, I want to tear a hole in the roof."

Gob dropped his gaze, embarrassed that she heard what she did.

"But now he won't," she said, perking up, "not tonight. No one's gonna bother us, we can do whatever we want. So, is there anything you'd like to do?"

"I-I don't know what to do," he exclaimed. "I'm still trying to wrap my head around it all."

"Well, why don't we start by standing up?" she suggested. "This floor's making my butt sore."

Though his legs were shaky, he stood up.

"Ah, that's better," she sighed. "So, you hungry? I brought tons of stuff, though I only have water and Nuka-Cola to drink."

"No thanks," he replied.

She gave him a twisted smirk. "C'mon Gob, what's on your mind? Talk to me. You don't have to have the bar to talk to me." Picking up on his discomfort, she softened her tone. "Hey, it's just me. Nobody else."

"You really are too good for me, smoothskin," he said.

"No, I'm the way everyone should behave," Cassie said. "Ghoul or not, you're still human. You don't deserve anything less."

The way she said it, he could almost believe her. She wanted it to be true, that much was clear, but a lot would have to change before it ever happened.

"Let's see," she mused, stooping to swipe a box of Dandy Boy Apples from the floor. Ripping open the package, she popped a glob of the pre-war food in her mouth. "I cleared out the raiders in the Springvale Elementary School again. They came back after two weeks, gotta be a new record or something."

Gob smiled, feeling his body relax as she casually spoke. "They're the ones that keep hitting Megaton, right?" he questioned.

"Either them, or the ones at the Super Duper Mart," she said between bites. "I can never tell. Though I haven't seen anyone at the Super Duper Mart for a while."

The ghoul picked up a packet of Potato Crisps that were peeking out of the open backpack. "This okay?" he asked, still unsure.

"Way okay," she replied, waving off his concern. "Dig in, anything you want. My stuff's your stuff."

He popped the packet, smiling as the rare salty treat lit up his taste buds. Leaning against the wall, he listened to her musings on pre-war food. She was chipper and upbeat, rather unlike the last time he saw her and very much back to her old self.

"Is there anything you miss from before the war?" she asked, still on the topic of food.

"Mm," he hummed in pleasure, thinking back on the many things that disappeared after the bombs, the numerous simple things he once took for granted. "Fresh bread," he replied, his voice dreamy despite its roughness. "Yeast and flour and when it was done baking, the whole house smelled amazing. My mother baked the best bread, much better than anything in the store."

"That sounds heavenly," Cassie replied, flattening the empty apple box. "I'm not much of a cook, so I'd probably ruin it horribly."

He chuckled, craving some fresh baked bread, sliced thick with melting butter.

Digging through the backpack, the smoothskin pulled out a bottle of water. He continued to work on his crisps while she shoved the mess back inside the pack. She went to toss the bag on the bed, but paused, instead choosing to throw it on the floor beside the bed frame. After she finished the water, she wiped her mouth with her arm.

"Okay, this has got to move," she said, examining the bed in the center of the room. "Give me a hand, will you?"

Gob put the unfinished box of crisps beside the backpack, but the bed was already moving before he could put his hands on the frame. Ignoring the terrible screeching sound, they pushed the heavy piece of furniture up against the sidewall.

"There," she said, "now we have enough room to move around." She flung the backpack on the bed, taking a seat beside it.

He retrieved the box of Potato Crisps, finishing it in a couple handfuls and handed it back to her.

"Do you want to sit?" she invited, gesturing to the space beside her. "You don't have to if it makes you uncomfortable."

"I'm okay, thanks," he replied, slightly crestfallen when she looked disappointed. "Did you hear Billy Creel took a dive in the saloon earlier today?"

Cassie's face split a grin. "No, what happened?"

"Slipped on a piece of mole rat meat," he answered. "Lands flat on his back. Stands up, slips and falls again right away."

Her laugh made him smile. It was full and throaty and everything he admired about her. "Oh my gosh, I can just imagine it," she exclaimed, wiping tears from her eyes. "The look on his face, tell me it was priceless."

"Priceless," he agreed, this time joining in her mirthful outbursts.

By the time they quieted down, she had to wipe her eyes again. "Oh man, and I missed it. Darn."

He thought about what else happened since the last time they spoke. The freedom to speak and laugh without repercussion felt comforting.

"Three Dog says the girl from 101 helped an old lady, I don't remember, rescue a violin or something?" he said.

Cassie shook her fists, her face exploding with emotion. "Ugh! I was supposed to tell you about that. You keep stealing my news. But did you know," she went on, voice lowering playfully, "that this means there's now a new radio station for the Capital Wasteland?"

"There is?"

"Yeah, it's gorgeous violin music, played by the old lady herself," she explained. "It's really beautiful, and anything new is a welcome change if you ask me."

"Huh," Gob huffed, "no, I didn't know that. But I doubt Moriarty will play anything other than GNR. Violin music doesn't really suit a saloon."

"Would you like to hear it?" she offered.

"What, you got a radio in there?" he asked as she opened the pack.

"Something like that," she replied, her entire arm stuffed into the bag.

Gob approached, gathering up the courage to sit on the bed with her. She moved over so he could have as much room away from her as he wanted and continued digging through her supplies. A flash of discomfort swept across her face, and she pulled a pistol with a dark metallic sheen and scope almost as long as the barrel out of her waistband, flinging it on the sheets.

"In case anybody tries to disturb us," she explained as he eyed the previously hidden sidearm. "I know it's in here somewhere," she thought aloud as the ghoul watched her blind search of the ragged pack. Eventually, she gave up and began digging handfuls of stuff out of the bag, tossing it on the mattress behind them. A large blanket came out first, and she spread it over the bed's surface to cover the used sheets before diving back in. He sat, hands in his lap, watching in amusement as she flung pound after pound of food, drinks, and books out of the bottomless pit.

"Paradise Lost? Macbeth? The Once and Future King?" he said, turning over a few of the books to read their titles. "Where'd you get all these?"

She cocked her head at the wide-eyed ghoul, shoving her shoulder down the backpack's throat. "You gotta get out more, Gob," she told him. "There's a whole world out there." Finding what she'd been looking for, she let out a cheer of victory. From the bottom of the backpack she pulled out her old Pip-Boy.

Gob's mind spun, recognizing the personal arm computer. She was from a vault? She never told him about being a vault dweller. Suddenly, something clicked, and his jaw dropped open.

"It's you," he stammered, looking back and forth between the Pip-Boy and the girl. "You're her – the girl from the radio. You're from Vault 101."

"Me?" she tossed back with a relaxed smile. "Nah, I'm from way up north. I never told you before, but I was raised by blind mole rats. I picked up this little trinket from their tunnels."

No, he couldn't be wrong. Could he? He didn't want to call her a liar. Besides, crazier things than blind mole rats had happened.

"Mole rats?" he echoed, mind still reeling.

"Oh yeah," she replied with a nonchalant wave. "First fifteen years of my life, I barely saw the sun. Looked like one of them too, all pink and fleshy. I would've left earlier, except I weighed three hundred pounds and the entrance was really tiny." She continued, watching as his expression morphed from reluctant acceptance to a doubtfully frustrated smirk. "So, I did the only thing I could do, and that was to take a giant dump. I kid you not, two hundred pounds, just like that. When I looked back though, I was terrified to see that a man had come out of my body. He was covered in poop with his eyes staring into space and all his limbs at weird angles. Looking closer, I noticed he had tanned skin and gray-blonde hair and a beard – the spitting image of Moriarty. Of course, I was so terrified I sunk a knife in his throat and crawled out of the mole rat nest. Imagine my surprise when I show up to Megaton and there he is again, running a business. I know I killed mine, so this must've been someone else's poop creation. You might not have known, but I'm here to tell you, he's nothing more than the giant turd of some lonely three hundred pound girl living in mole rat tunnels."

Gob couldn't contain himself any longer and burst into hysterics. He couldn't've told a crazier story if he tried, and she put the image of a poop-covered Moriarty so vividly into his head. She laughed along with him, and as their sounds blended together, a small voice at the back of his head reminded him that this is how it felt to be truly happy.

He laughed until his sides ached and he could laugh no more, only stare at the giggling smoothskin beside him. Her goodness, her strength – she had to be the one Three Dog howled for. She, who rescued orphans and spent her time talking to ghouls. How had he not recognized it before?

"Here, listen," she said, returning her attention to the Pip-Boy in her hands. After a few quiet clicks, soft violin music began to play from the device. He was sure he hadn't heard one since before the war. They used to make him sad, but this little instrument sang with joy. Finishing one song, they listened to the next. Cassie occasionally bobbed her head to the music.

Looking up, he thought he sat in the midst of an epiphany. There was no vault angel – only her. There had always been only her, wandering the wastes alone, bringing justice and peace to whomever she found, and returning to Megaton every few weeks to sit in his bar, brightening his day with her voice. He realized how little he truly knew about the girl beside him. For all the adventures she shared with him, all the hours they spent discussing every known topic under the sun, there was always the part she left out – the danger, the excitement, the part Three Dog would broadcast for the entire Capital Wasteland to hear. She never told him, despite the dozens of times they discussed the vault girl's adventures, she never admitted they'd been talking about her all along, that those were her adventures. Again, he found himself thinking that he didn't know this person. That part saddened him, the part she kept hidden.

"You're really her," he mused as the second song ended. "You're the one saving the wasteland."

Cassie's smile dropped. She flicked off the radio as the next song began to play. "I don't know about saving the wasteland, but yeah, that's me," she replied, her voice small. "Disappointed?"

"Why would I be disappointed?" he asked. "You've done so many amazing things."

"I don't have white robes and a sword though," she replied.

He could see that she was joking again, but she still appeared timid. He didn't understand – was she ashamed of herself? What else wasn't she telling him?

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked without a hint of malice. He was curious; he wanted to understand.

She sighed, fiddling with the device in her hands. "When I first got to Megaton, you could've seen me from a mile away – bright blue vault jumpsuit, Pip-Boy on my wrist, eyes that had never seen the sun. I was so lucky. One of the first people I ran into was Moira. She told me about the wastes, about how the world changed since the bombs fell. She called me 'Vault Girl.' I knew she was only playing around, but I also knew how much of a target I'd be if I kept walking around like that. I traded her an old gun I found, got some new clothes, and hung up my vault suit for good. The Pip-Boy's been in the bottom of my bag ever since. I still use it to listen to the radio or navigate occasionally, but I never pulled it out when other people were around. I didn't want them to know who I was, how inexperienced I was. I wanted to blend in, give myself enough time to learn my way around without every jerk thinking I was some pushover, because that's what I was." She looked up at him. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before now. I didn't think that radio thing would turn into such a big deal, and I even asked Three Dog at one point to stop. But with you, I didn't have to be that person. I didn't have to be the heroic vault savior. I could just be a simple wanderer, enjoying the friendly company without another care in the world."

So, she'd been afraid too; afraid of the wastes and aware of her natural handicap. Fresh out of the vault, she decided a low profile would be the best way to go. She hadn't outright lied to him, but he was still working through the disconnect – equating everything the radio said she did to the person he knew.

"It's almost funny," he said, "how I only knew part of your story, but at the same time, I knew the whole thing without realizing it."

"No, Gob," she replied, desperation burning in her voice. "You knew me, the real me. The one that didn't have to be strong and tackle the entire wasteland, who could be awkward and crack terrible jokes and obsess over old books. That's who I really am – not what the radio says I did. I'm snarky and hypocritical and I do a little dance whenever one of my plasma shots completely vaporizes a raider's head clean off his shoulders. I drink Nuka-Cola and beer and I'm friends with Gob the ghoul and I sit on roofs instead of resting at home because open spaces terrify me and I think that if I keep forcing myself to do it, I'll eventually get used to it. I'm skeptical of everything and everyone and I'm a romantic sap and a daddy's girl, and if you knew _that's_ who was saving the wastes, I was afraid you'd be disappointed it was somebody like me and not someone better."

"Hey," he said, halting her rant. "There is no one better than you. If anything, knowing the truth just blows how highly I already think of you even higher. And hypocritical? Please. You don't have a single malicious bone in your body."

"Yeah, I'm hypocritical," she replied, feebly wiping at her eyes. "And you know what the sad part is? I only just realized it. I preach acceptance and equality for folks like ghouls and androids, all the while I'm walking around in disguise because going around as a vault dweller would've been too much work. I changed my appearance to protect myself, and you can't."

Gob understood the point she argued, but her self-doubt ignited something ferocious in him. "No, Cassie," he insisted. He almost reached out to grab her hands, but stopped himself, settling for scooting closer. "What you did was smart. You made a choice to advance your survival, and you know what? It worked. You're alive – here – because you outwitted the wasteland until you could learn how to beat it into submission. That's not hypocritical – that's tactical strategy."

She wiped back her self-pity, stifling a sniffle. "You're right," she said, shaking her head with a shrug. "Gosh, you're always right. Would you quit being so right all the time?"

She smirked at him, playfully angry. They sat in silence while she composed herself.

"Sheesh, here I am supposed to be giving you a nice evening," she said, "and I almost break down next do you." She chuffed at the irony, then smiled, remembering something. "Cassie," she repeated. "You said my name. I can't remember you ever saying my name before." She paused. "It sounded nice."

Gob smiled, thoroughly embarrassed. He hadn't intended to say her name, it just slipped out. She was his smoothskin, who saw him as an equal and enjoyed the sound of her name on his coarse voice, and if she were the only good person left in the world, it would still be a wonderful place.

"And you don't have to hold back, you know," she continued, sparing him a quick glance. "I won't get mad at you for touching me."

Nerves overshadowed his embarrassment. He'd managed to hold back and hoped she hadn't noticed. Unconsciously, he clenched his hands, looking down when the pressure strained his tearing flesh. He knew why he couldn't touch her, and it angered him. Being a ghoul sucked.

"Trust me," he said, voice low, "you wouldn't want me to. I know you're not afraid, you don't have to prove that to me. It wouldn't feel good against skin as nice as yours, I'm sure."

"It's not about proving anything," she replied, frowning at his response. "Would you mind if I touched you?"

His thoughts flickered to their current situation, the arrangement that placed them there. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he replied, "You can do anything you want to me, smoothskin," gaze never leaving his lap.

Realizing his implication, Cassie scrambled to set things straight. "It's not – Gob, that's not how it is," she said. "Forget the circumstances, forget everything else. If it was just you and me, alone in a room, two friends, no sexual connotations – would it make you horribly uncomfortable?"

Gob remained still, her words floating in the air above his head. He'd come to associate human touch with the bruises he received, though he didn't fear that with her. Would her touch make him uncomfortable? No, probably not. In fact, he might even like it. The one thing that did make him anxious was the look on her face if she pulled back, realizing that she did not like the feel of his ghoulified flesh. That would break his heart. Even if she had to force herself to maintain the contact longer than she wanted, he couldn't allow himself to do that to her. No, they were better off as friends – talking at a distance and not sullying the good thing they had with a curious, eye-opening caress. There was a reason human society had a strong distaste of ghouls, and it saddened him to know that he would have to be the one to insist its reality to one as good and innocent as her.

But when he looked up, he saw her reaching out a hand to him, palm open in silent request for his permission. He almost leaned back, but her eyes conveyed the pure innocence and harmlessness of her intention. Soft and smooth, she reached not for his hands, but hovered mere inches away from his face, doubtlessly close enough to feel his breath. His breathing hitched, eyes searching for answers written in her palm or printed across the planes of her face.

"You only have to say no," she said, remaining motionless. The slightest twist of her arm would cause her to brush his cheek, but she wanted him to know that it was his decision to make.

He watched her for a few moments, giving him time to move away or decline her request. That's what it was, a request. It wasn't a mandate or an order – despite her power in the situation to demand that he do so – it was an innocent invitation. He realized it was the first thing she'd ever asked of him. Though he couldn't stand up for her against creeps like Billy Creel or Jericho, and he cowered behind her the last time a fight broke out, this was something he could do. How simple it would be to lean into her touch, to close the short distance between them. There was no one else watching them, no one to say it was wrong for a ghoul and a smoothskin to touch. The only thing that held him back was himself. This was something he could do.

Before his endless string of self-doubt could rise up to strangle him, he tilted into her hand. Her fingers contoured around the curve of his cheek, touching muscle and ripped skin without prejudice. And what's more, she smiled. Elation reached the corners of her eyes, causing them to crinkle with the rise of her cheeks. Gob let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, stare running down her flawless arm that extended towards him.

Her hand felt cool against his hot flesh, softer than anything he could remember. He closed his eyes, relishing in the feeling of her touch as her fingers caressed the side of his face. She was gentle as she brushed the pad of her thumb down his cheek, but underneath it raged the warmth of how much she cared for him, of how much she valued his place in her crazy life. It felt so good. The sensation traveled over his chin and down his neck, covering his entire body.

With a will of its own, his hand raised, wanting to hold her to him. He stopped it, eyes snapping open when he realized what he was doing. His hand lingered just behind hers. Giving him another smile, a smile all for him, Cassie snagged one of his fingers between her own. The sudden loss of her touch swept through him like a frigid wind, but when it returned, accompanied by his own hand, his eyes fell shut again. He hummed with delight, attentive to the smooth skin under his palm and the same pressed against his cheek. So long had he been without touch, especially the tender touch of a woman. But this, nothing could surpass this gift she gave him: a friendship between a smoothskin and a ghoul, no obligations, no expectations, nothing except the touch.

Losing track of time, when her hand finally fell from his face, he was left in a daze. She must have seen the effect she had on him because she giggled, beaming as he pried open his eyelids. He hummed, still floating on a cloud of her grace.

"That felt good," he said, his classic dopey grin returning.

"I wanted to," she replied, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

It took him a couple minutes to come down from his high. He didn't try to stand, knowing he'd fall flat on his face and not care enough to pick himself up. The smoothskin chuckled, believing him to be overreacting.

"So, it's only nine o'clock. What else do you want to do?" she asked.

Eventually, he found himself sitting cross-legged on the bed, back resting against the wall as she told him the true stories of her travels. Three Dog played from the Pip-Boy between them, hidden among the empty packages of junk food, but Cassie told each tale with a level of detail the disk jockey could never hope to recreate. She was an animated storyteller, no longer having to censor herself or watch what details she let slip. She was the hero of the wastes, laughing and flailing her arms about, with a little smudge of cream from a Fancy Lad Snack Cake clinging to the corner of her mouth no matter how many times she wiped at it. After recounting a couple of her noble deeds, she insisted they alternate storytelling. She'd request a tale from his pre-war days and he'd beg for details on something Three Dog reported.

They talked like this for hours, until Cassie got sick of the repeating soundtrack and picked up the Pip-Boy.

"It's almost midnight," she said, suppressing a tiny yawn. "You tired yet?"

"No way," he replied, rocking back and forth. "I want to hear more. This is the most fun I've had since, well, ever actually."

"I'm not dying, Gob," she admonished, chucking an empty box at him. "There's still plenty of time to recount every last story. With every. Last. Detail." She paused. "I'm not going to vanish into thin air. I'm still gonna sit at the bar, have a beer, and chat, just like we always did."

This comforted him. She was right, there was plenty of time, and he had nothing but time as a ghoul. Maybe she'd even buy another evening with him, after she'd had time to save up enough caps. He was curious how much this opportunity cost her, but he didn't want to ask.

"Do you have to leave now?"

"No," she said. "You're on vacation until tomorrow morning when Moriarty opens the bar. I just thought you might enjoy a full night's rest. I know I do – I love sleep. In fact, if I'm in town and I'm not in your bar, or on the roof, I'm sleeping. Well, or fixing my weapons, or armor."

Sleeping? How boring. He could sleep when he was dead – whenever that may be, he didn't know. Right now, he had a stunning smoothskin sitting before him, filling him to overflowing with contentedness and joy with each word that came out of her mouth. He didn't want it to end.

At his dejected stare, Cassie threw up her hands. "Alright, one more," she promised, "but make it a good one."

"A good one? Hmm," he thought, tilting his head to rub at his neck. "Ah, what else could be better than this?"

She gave him an amused look, curious to hear what request he finally decided on.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he asked, "What are you going to do next?"

She beamed, expression swiftly turning mischievous and deadly. "Well, if you really want to know," she teased. "I'm planning on taking down Evergreen Mills."

"Evergreen Mills?" he repeated. "That's supposed to be the biggest raider base for miles."

"What's the matter? Not questioning my skills now, are you?" She continued when he sat in stunned silence. "The first time I ran across the camp was on my way to Vault 112. I steered clear on my way home, but I've gone back twice since then to scope things out. I think I'm ready."

"Yeah but, all by yourself? That place is serious, smoothskin."

"Without a doubt. Honestly, it will probably be the biggest camp I've set my sights on, and that's not counting the super mutant behemoth they have stuck in a cage, either."

"You're kidding," he said. "A super mutant behemoth?"

"I can't make this stuff up," she claimed, then qualified with a roll of her eyes, "okay, I can, but you'd recognize it right away."

"Why?" he said after a pause. What could she possibly gain walking into the middle of the most heavily guarded, hostile base outside of Paradise Falls?

"Look," she said, spreading metaphorical cards on the blanket between them, "to anyone else, it may seem like a fool's errand. But if anyone really wants to make a difference out here, the way everyone thinks the vault hero can, we can't shy away from the big strongholds. Taking out small raider groups might be all well and good, but eventually they come back. Those ones at the Springvale school – and a lot of others I've come across – they all have E. M. branded on their skin. Evergreen Mills: that's where they're coming from. That's where they're training their new recruits. If someone clears that place out . . ." Cassie shook her head, leaving the effect of such a heroic act to their imaginations. "Someone has to do it eventually. Why not sooner rather than later?"

She seemed determined in her decision. Finally, Gob could see it. She was the one they called the savior of the wastes. Little more than a wide-eyed vault kid, thrust into an unknown world to search for her lost father, and despite her own dilemma, she resolved to pick up the fallen banner of the wasteland and wage a war that everyone thought was lost. In his two centuries of life, he knew there would never be anyone else like her.

"I'd offer to go with you," Gob said, "but I don't have any sick days left."

She chuckled at his humor, beginning to stow away their trash in her backpack. He helped, the years behind the bar causing his arms to move automatically.

"You will be sure to come back, though," he urged, grabbing her eyes.

Her laughter faded, leaving a sad smile that understood his concern. She dropped the backpack to the floor and reached for the neat stack of books sitting at the foot of the bed.

"I worry about you," he admitted. "Out there, alone."

She looked up, still confident but acknowledging she shared that fear. "I'm going to play this smart," she replied. "And if things don't go my way from the beginning, I'll back out and rework my plan." After a few breaths, she reclined on the mattress, using her arms for a pillow, and continued. "In about five or six days, I'll be sitting at my usual place by the wall, order a beer, and tell you all about the final hours of Evergreen Mills. You'll know the whole story long before Three Dog gets wind of it."

He nodded, unable to beat back her contagious optimism. "I'll hold you to it."

When she finally convinced him to join her in winding down the night with a book, he found himself bewildered by the amount of tangible happiness the smoothskin managed to dump into his lap. The situation she arranged may have been unorthodox to say the least, but he was glad she did it. Telling her so amid a peaceful hour of reading earned him a friendly smile and an embarrassed wiggle of her shoulders.

She sat beside him, their backs pressed against the wooden headboard with a comfortable foot of space between them. They passed the easy silence until shortly after one in the morning, when Cassie turned to him, laying down. Closing her book and setting it aside, she asked what he was reading. He held a small paperback of Shakespeare's plays and returned her grin as she blinked sleepily.

"Would you read to me a little?" she asked. "I like the sound of your voice."

Granting her request, he restarted the third act of _King Lear_. Gob read until the fourth scene, shyly glancing at the resting smoothskin out of the corner of his eye, until a powerful yawn traveled up through his chest. Though he thought she'd fallen asleep, he saw that her eyes were open as his hand fell from his mouth. She wore an expression of gentle happiness.

"Tired?" she asked, further infecting him with weariness.

He nodded, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand. "A little."

"You should try to get some rest," she encouraged with a soft voice. "A little extra sleep never hurt anyone."

He wanted to deny his increasingly apparent tiredness, yet willingly placed the small book into Cassie's waiting hand. Righting herself against the headboard, she skimmed the pages until she located where he left off. His eyelids rose and fell slowly, not attempting to conceal his dopey stare as her smooth voice resumed Shakespeare's play. Allowing himself to relax, he reclined further into the creaky mattress, cocking his elbow to prop up his head. Though he feebly fought the mellow darkness that swam around him, the minute changes of her inflection lulled him to sleep by the end of the fifth scene.


	7. Chapter 7

Gob awoke with an uncommon soreness in his arms, but besides that, fiercely content. Stifling a stretch, he left his eyes shut to chase the final moments of allotted rest. The mattress was soft beneath him, and the clothes he wore embraced him with familiar warmth. Apart from the sounds of his breathing, the morning was quiet as lazy dust particles floated in and out of the sunrays that penetrated the sheet metal. He curled his arms into his chest, nuzzling the fluffy blanket that cradled him so tenderly.

The gentle tone of a woman called to him, and a comfortable presence nudged his knee. "Good morning."

His eyes flew open. Where was he? This wasn't his bed. As he scrambled away from the intruding voice, his gaze landed on the smoothskin lying beside him. On her side, Cassie's amused smile melted to friendly concern. She was one of the last things he expected to see.

"It's me," she assured, reaching out while keeping her hand off him. "Hey, no more freaking out, okay? We already did that."

"Cassie," he said, calming down enough to observe his surroundings and sit up. They were both lying on the queen size mattress – him still on the side of the wall and her on the side of the open room. A fallen pile of books lay at the foot of the bed between them, and the frightening stranger from last night remained a pool of brown fabric on the floor by the door.

She followed him up, reclining against the headboard. "Careful," she teased. "If you keep using my first name, I'll begin to think you see me as a friend."

It was obviously morning, as evidenced by the beams of natural light hitting the floor. How long had he slept? Was he late for work? He didn't want his tardiness to get her in trouble.

He ran his hands over his face, now fully awake. "You're still here," he said.

"I am," she replied, "and don't worry, nothing happened. You fell asleep when I was reading _King Lear_. Do you remember that?"

"I must've been more tired than I thought," he said, his voice rougher than normal. "Sorry. I guess I wasn't expecting you to still be here."

Cassie cast her gaze down, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "Well, I would have left earlier," she confessed softly. "I originally planned on leaving when you fell asleep, but uh, I didn't actually notice you were sleeping until . . ."

His full attention was on her, and though she said nothing had happened, apprehension built in his chest as she stammered for words and pursed her lips, a slight blush rising to her cheeks.

"I didn't notice until," she continued with a shy grin, "well, you kinda wrapped your arms around my waist."

His eyes widened. "I did?"

"You have quite the iron grip," she said, "and I didn't want to wake you, so I gave up and went to sleep too."

Ashamed, his head fell into his hands. He could only imagine it – the corpse cuddled up against the innocent smoothskin. She touched him the night before, but that didn't mean she wanted him lying close to her, unknowingly holding her hostage. She'd given him space, space he interpreted as serving both her comfort as well as his. Putting his arms around her – surely that overstepped the line. He didn't know how he would begin his apology, but her voice broke him out of his thoughts.

"You looked happy," she said softly, retrieving his gaze, "when you were asleep." She paused, hoping to alleviate his worries. "I don't think I've ever seen you smile so much before."

"I'm sorry," he said, though she didn't sound angry. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"No harm done," she said with a friendly shrug. "Don't worry about it. If anything, now we're even for that kissing thing a few weeks ago."

He smiled, remembering the look on Jericho's face and her contrition afterwards. Though she didn't owe him the sentiment, he knew the unintentional outburst distressed her. A few weeks ago. Was that all it had been? A few weeks ago, she narrowly avoided a bar fight with Megaton's notorious ex-raider. Now, she had her sights set on Evergreen Mills. Jericho better watch himself.

"You're sure you're not mad?" he asked.

"Nah," she said. "I'm not mad, but what about you? You're the one that looks like he wants to jump out a window."

"I," he stuttered.

"I know," she interrupted. "We smoothskins with our unbroken flesh and all this annoying hair. I don't blame you for not wanting to touch us. Heck, I'm disgusted on your behalf."

He opened his mouth to deny her ludicrous claim, but upon catching sight of her challenging smirk, he knew she was merely messing with him. A wave of energy washed over him, and in that moment, he wanted to grab her arms and wrestle with her until she was forced to take back every word. Suppressing the sudden urge, he realized he'd never had a spontaneous desire to reach out and grab a smoothskin. He may have wanted, at times, to slap a couple idiotic customers silly, but never to wrestle like a wound-up adolescent.

"You space out on me?" she asked, tilting her head into his askew line of sight.

"No," he replied. "Maybe."

She handed him a bottle of purified water, which he drank.

"Thanks," he said, returning the empty bottle after crawling to sit beside her on the bed with his feet on the floor. "How late is it?"

"It's twenty minutes after seven," she said, consulting the Pip-Boy. "We still have another half-hour, unless you'd like me to leave."

She said it as more of a question than a statement. Not necessarily wanting to see her go, he turned the question on her. "Do you want to leave?"

"Look," she stated, leveling a playful glare at him, "tell me it won't inconvenience you, and I'll stay."

"It won't inconvenience me," he replied straight away.

"Fine," she snapped, a smile still tugging at her lips. "You've spared Evergreen Mills from my wrath for an extra few minutes."

He laughed, and so did she. The sound of their laughter mixing together was music in his ears, and once again he found himself genuinely happy. When it finally died down, he found his thoughts had materialized to words in his mouth.

"In case I forget to say so, I'm glad you arranged this," he said, gesturing to the room, "whatever it is. This time between us."

"You already did, last night. I had to get you away from that bar somehow," Cassie replied.

"I know it's not my place to ask, but how much . . ."

"Don't worry about that, Gob," she said. "If it was only a tenth of the time, I still would've paid a lot more than I did."

He smiled. Maybe it was better if he didn't know. Angling her body towards him, she grew more serious.

"There are one or two things I'd like to say about that, though. Before I leave."

He stiffened, turning to mirror her stance.

"Look," she began quickly, "I'm not mad and you didn't do anything wrong. Okay?"

"Okay," he responded automatically.

"It's just, these are tough facts, and I'm not really sure how to say them without . . ." she said, trailing off.

Scooting closer, he bumped her leg with his knee. "You can tell me anything, smoothskin."

Put at ease by his voluntary proximity, the girl nodded and took a deep breath. After unsuccessfully pinning a lock of hair behind her ear, she fixed her gaze on her friend.

"When I first went to Moriarty to arrange this . . . session," she began, "I wasn't sure he'd allow it. To his credit, he almost turned me down, and it took a lot of convincing to get him to say yes. But in the end, he did say yes, and I was somewhat disappointed that he did. There's no kinder way to say it, Gob, but he sold . . . Well, he sold _you_ , like Nova sells her body."

Gob nodded. He was made well aware of the extent of his boss's control last evening.

Cassie continued. "It didn't sound like he'd done it before, but I need to ask: has Moriarty ever used you like this previously? Or let someone else . . . before?"

"No," he replied solemnly, shaking his head. "This is the first time."

"Good," she said, glad to confirm her suspicions. "But now that he has, in a sense, loaned you out to me, you have to realize that he may be more likely to do it again."

"Yes," he said weakly. "I had considered that."

"I don't want that to happen, Gob," she said. "Especially not because of something I did. So if he ever tries, if he ever forces you to . . . You have to tell me, Gob, right away. No matter how much he threatens you to keep quiet, you have to tell me. And I will make it right, even if it means getting rid of Moriarty."

"Smoothskin, no," he protested.

"Smoothskin, yes," she shot back. "I don't like it when he calls you names, I hate it when he hits you, but I will not stand to see him abuse you like that. You are not a slave, you are not an object – you are a human being. You deserve to be treated with kindness and respect. I've been playing nice and staying within the rules and boundaries, but sometimes wasteland justice is the only option to make things fair. So promise me, Gob. Promise you'll tell me so I can do what needs to be done."

He sat silently for a few moments. What she was asking, it could end badly for either one of them, for both of them, but he knew her look of determination.

"I promise."

Chest heaving with stress, she patted the knee he left resting against her leg. "Thank you," she said. "I hope it never comes to that, but I want you to know that I'll be right behind you in an instant."

"I don't doubt you," he said, remembering that she was the vault hero as well as his frequent customer and friend. "Is that all you wanted to say?"

"I think so," she said. "I hate to be such a buzz kill, but it had to be said."

Cassie stood, letting out quiet groans as she stretched her stiff muscles. Satisfied to copy her movement from the bed, Gob pulled his arms over his head and cracked his vertebrae but eventually found himself watching her. She moved with feminine grace, and her short, airy hair bounced with her movements. Cupping one hand over her mouth, she let out a yawn that swiftly escalated to a frustrated snarl. It both terrified and delighted the staring ghoul.

"Breakfast?" she chirped, swiping her backpack from the floor.

"You mean there's more stuff in that thing?" he demanded.

A few minutes later, they licked cream filling from their fingers, the box of Fancy Lad Snack Cakes between them picked clean.

"Mmm," Cassie hummed, "cake for breakfast. I hope I run into some stray raiders on the way so I can put the sugar high to good use."

"Do you have to leave today?" he asked.

"I don't have to do anything, Gob," she exclaimed, tossing up her hands. Apparently, the sugar was already starting to affect her. "Ever since I got out of that vault, there's no school, no meetings. I do something because I wanna do it. No, I don't _have_ to leave today, but I don't want to get in the habit of procrastinating either. I'm ready, all my gear is packed. I just gotta swing by my place, grab it, and go."

"Well, just be sure to be careful out there, okay kid?"

"Aye aye," she replied, giving a mock salute. "What time is it? Gosh, I better get moving so you can go back to the bar and I can prove to Moriarty that I didn't kill you with violent lovemaking."

The flesh on his brow ridge shot up at a comical angle, but she assured him that it was a long story and that he really didn't want to know. Fluttering around the room, she retrieved all the miscellaneous bits she pulled out of her backpack and returned them to the bottomless sack. He aided in these endeavors as much as he could, but unfortunately, her packing technique was way beyond him. When he handed her the stack of books, she stowed them away with the reverent care of antiques, but her hands did not return empty. She pushed the small paperback of Shakespeare's plays back into his hands.

"Here," she said. "I've been meaning to get a new book to you for a while anyways."

Smiling, he tucked the gift into one of his back pockets. She was too good to him.

After making one more check of the room, Cassie returned the bothersome bed to the center of the room with Gob's help.

"Oh, I hope Moriarty has a hangover and was awake enough to hear that," she said. "The little turd," she muttered.

They shared another moment of laughter at the inside joke, but as the minutes ticked away, they were aware of the eventual parting, drawing her to heroism at Evergreen Mills and him to the bar downstairs.

Her disguise waited by her feet. Gob understood all too well the prejudices she risked simply by being in the room, alone, with him; he could not find fault in her caution.

After this, everything would return to normal – his work, her wandering – but yet, she changed everything in a single night. If he had any doubt before that she was a person who could be trusted – with his secrets, with his dreams, with his wellbeing – those doubts no longer mattered. He knew he could trust her completely and with anything. She had his best interest in mind and always would. So inexplicably good, she would probably rip her beating heart out of her chest and hand it to him if he needed it.

 _She_ was the only friend _he_ had out in the wide-open wasteland. It didn't matter that he was a ghoul, or even a slave – she treated him as an equal. Whereas the most he could expect from a lot of smoothskins was pity, her demeanor shone with compassion and unbridled understanding. She dialed back this treatment in public, but as their private session proved, she only did so to keep from angering Moriarty and to prevent harm from coming to him. For this, he couldn't be more grateful, though it was painfully obvious she wanted to proclaim their friendship and equality for all to see.

He found himself so moved by her altruism that he had to vocalize his gratitude a second time.

"Thank you," he rasped. "Sm- Cassie, thank you. I know I'll never be able to pay you back. However much this cost you, and everything else. Not just the caps. Thank you, for everything."

"Gob," she sighed, her voice a pleasant harmony of tones. Again, Cassie reached out her hand to him. "May I?"

The ghoul dropped his hesitation and slid into her palm immediately. Shutting his eyes, he savored the feeling of her flawless skin as she lavished her attentions on his other cheek. This time, his hand joined hers without a second thought, and he held her against the side of his face. She felt warm, but just as torturously soft as that first touch. It took the entirety of his concentration to pry open his eyes and listen as she began speaking.

"You don't owe me a single thing," she said, ironically attempting to keep his attention on her confessions while simultaneously distracting him with the slight movement of her fingers. "If anything, it is I who is repaying the kindness you showed me. Without your advice, or words of encouragement, I probably would've been killed a long time ago. It was your voice I heard when I avoided super mutants. It was your warnings that safely steered me clear of places like Paradise Falls and guided me through dark metro tunnels. If it wasn't for you, Gob, I may never have found my father. And when his dream of bringing purified water to the wastes is realized, I'll be able to say, 'It's because Gob in Megaton was my friend.' You saved my life a dozen times over. No Gob, I only hope that _I_ will be able to repay everything you've done for me."

Between her touch and gentle words of sincerity, Gob lost himself in a haze of utter happiness. Despite the restful sleep, contented tiredness tugged on his sleeve. Distantly, he disagreed with nearly every point she made but could not muster the effort to voice these thoughts.

Losing the battle to keep his eyes open, he replied after a powerful inhale, "Just keep ordering cola and beer, and we'll call it even."

"You got it," she said softly, stroking her thumb down his tattered cheek. She felt his hum of pleasure travel through their hands and smiled. If only he knew how much she was willing to do for him – what she would risk, what she would happily give to see him always this happy.

After another few tender moments of the physical contact they both craved, they parted, hands falling to their sides.

"I guess I should get going," she said to his dazed grin.

She draped the oversized cloak over her shoulders and fastened the faded knapsack on her back. When she picked up the helmet and facemask however, she paused, staring into the black eye plate. She held it as she might a disembodied head or a small creature, lips drawn into a thin line as if poised to ask it a question.

Concerned by her silence and straight face, the bartender stepped towards her, reaching for her arm but jerking back with the abrupt return of her voice.

"Gob," she said, keeping her gaze on the helmet. "You told me . . . You said you were glad I arranged this, that you enjoyed yourself."

"Yes?"

At last she tore her eyes from the blastmaster helmet and looked at him. "Would you like . . . I mean, if I negotiated with Moriarty . . . Do you think you might, uhh, be interested in doing this again?"

The ghoul dropped his worried stare to the floor. She wanted his permission? She wanted his permission to spend her caps and make him ludicrously happy? At the same time, he sensed her caution. Making a habit of this unusual meeting could put them both at risk – Moriarty may be even more willing than before to sell the companionable services of his bartender and it would be more likely that Cassie was found out purchasing these services, exposed to the derision and scorn of every other human in the place she called home.

"It'd be risky," she continued, fidgeting with the strap that ran across her chest, "and I'm not sure if I could-"

He cut her off. "It wouldn't inconvenience me," he replied, finding the familiar phrase in his mouth.

That got her to smile, and he did as well.

"Okay," she replied, tossing the helmet between her hands. "Just don't hold your breath. Based on what Moriarty charges, your time is darn expensive."

"Well of course. You can't expect these amazing looks and personality to come cheap."

She laughed again, and although it was short and restrained, he committed every note to his memory.

"I suppose not," she said before fastening the blastmaster helmet in place. Cassie gave him a final wave and opened the unlocked door, descending the stairs to the bar below.

The ghoul had to stop himself from following right away, but when he was sure it was safe, pattered down the stairs to take his customary place behind the counter. The saloon sat empty. Rag in hand, he proceeded in the mindless task of wiping down the wooden surface.

Colin materialized from the storage area behind him, apparently waiting, and chuckling when his presence spooked the barkeeper.

"Still in one piece, I see," he remarked, giving him an intense look-over that had Gob shrinking in the opposite direction. "An' that's sayin' somethin', especially when 'ya look like 'yer about to fall apart anyway."

"Y-yes, sir," Gob stammered. He made an effort to appear unhappy and used.

Moriarty straightened, shoving him aside when he made his way into the private side room. The ghoul wondered if his boss knew what really happened between him and the smoothskin last night – what kind of unthinkable trouble that would put the both of them in.

He rounded the bar to unlock the front door, as was his responsibility, but found the task already completed. Returning to his usual spot, he let out a sigh and shrugged. No customers. No Moriarty to knock him around until any showed up. He flipped on the radio that sat against the wall, directly adjacent to the smoothskin's favorite seat. After Three Dog's short introduction, Bob Crosby played from the flickering device, the waltzy tune singing of rainbows and happiness. Gob hadn't seen a rainbow in decades, but as he leaned over the bar to rest his chin in his palm, he could not disavow his own satisfaction. Today would be a good day.

The door beside him swung open and he turned, expecting Moriarty. Instead, the cloaked figure in the tall black facemask emerged, pausing only long enough to navigate a path around him. He recognized the green duffel bag from earlier, now joining the familiar tan backpack, but did not register its absence. Instead, he restrained the grin that threatened to split him apart as the figure exited through the front door. The imposing build and expansive dark eyes no longer unsettled him, for he now knew there was an angel under the demon's veil.


	8. Chapter 8

A storm rolled in across the Capital Wasteland. It pelted the metal roof of the saloon in Megaton with rain and blustery wind. Lights flickered; the sidewalls groaned. However, despite threatening to tear the town from its foundation in the night, morning brought clear skies and cleansing sunlight. Compared to the raucous of only a few hours prior, it would appear that the world simply perished, and everything was still.

When Gob opened his eyes, he smiled, because the smoothskin's face was once again the first thing he saw. She lay beside him, running one of her satin fingers down his jawline. He nuzzled his face into her palm, chasing her touch when she finally pulled away. Eyes sparkling, she let out a quiet laugh, private and gentle.

He sighed. As it always did, his time with her ended much too soon. He could only watch as she stood, disappearing through the doorway with her open palm trailing behind her – a silent invitation to follow. He rose, followed.

The entirety of the barroom spread before him. The crowd resembled the afternoon regulars. Descending the stairs, he picked her out immediately by her light brown hair, cropped short to taper at her neck. Her back was turned towards him. Wherever she went, he could be bold, so he strode up to her and laid a hand on her shoulder.

She spun as if his touch burned. The whites of her eyes shone all around, pupils constricted to sharp pinpoints. She stumbled back and fell to the ground with an awful wail. Though he felt frozen in place, she gradually drew farther and farther away. A crowd of shadowy men rose up around her – men with glaring red lights for eyes and nothing more than a painted, jagged line for mouths. Blood and poison dripped from their pointed teeth, yet she clung to their tattered robes with white knuckles. Each of her short gasps was a heavy-handed blow on his neck.

He could not bear to see the terror in her eyes, her orbs unbreakably locked with his, but could not force himself to look away.

Between violent whimpers and moans, her straining vocal cords found words to answer the low and gentle questions of the shadow men.

"H-he did it," she sobbed, pointing straight through him. "He touched me. He . . . He . . ."

Her accusations dissolved into heaving sobs while a dozen beaming eyes turned up in his direction. Completely numb, he could not shrink away as they stalked towards him, circled him, towering high above to drip venom onto his flesh.

The first strike came from behind. It knocked him to the ground and had him seeing double. From there, he could not discern individual blows, as the entire horde fell on him at once. He heard his bones breaking, tasted his organs bursting. Despite his best efforts, when he opened his eyes, the smoothskin sat there. Claw marks and tears ran down her cheeks in equal measures as she tore furiously at the flawless skin on her face. She sobbed and moaned and made sounds too horrific to suggest dying.

"Don't let it touch me," she cried in a raw voice. "Don't let it touch me!"

The pain was unbearable. Sparing a glance, he saw the rest of his body pulverized into a mash of gore. But when he looked up, he saw the smoothskin's eyes tightly shut, her mouth open in a roaring scream: "Kill it!"

With a final kick from above, he succumbed to the darkness. The same instant flung him into the light, where he bolted upright with a start.

"-do, and get 'yer lousy carcass downstairs," a man's voice yelled.

Gob's head whipped back and forth with enough force to strain muscles. He was still in his room. Sunlight fluttered in through the holes in the metal siding – nature's spotlight for the dust particles that floated through the building, invisible anywhere beside the narrow beam where they were seen before vanishing forever.

Moriarty's blonde hair and leather vest disappeared through the doorway. Moriarty. The saloon. The pre-war ghoul hadn't experienced a dream that vivid in decades. Even then, in the safety of reality, echoes of the vision caused him to tremble in fear. It wasn't real. It wasn't real.

Thinking of the bar, he flung himself off the ratty mattress, wincing when his boss's kick flashed through his side. Boots on, shirt tucked in, he was ready in a matter of seconds, barely managing to keep his footing as he flew down the stairs.

Still haunted by his nightmare, he pitched himself into the bar at full speed. The ghoul ran his hands over its grainy surface, drinking the sour yeasty smells of alcohol puke.

Moriarty stood at the front door, unlocking it in anticipation of the business day, but when he turned back, his bartender already had a rag in his hand – wiping down the bar as if it were a lover.

"Darn zombie shufflers," the Irishman cursed, stalking back to the private room.

It was a few minutes before the first handful of customers ambled in for their meager breakfasts, but even then, Gob felt himself bobbing around in a daze. Nathan and Manya came in and took their customary table on the far side of the room. Three Dog played languid tunes from the radio at his elbow. Multiple times he pinched himself but could not shake the cold, sticky haze that wound itself around his ankles, heading for his waist. The further it crept, the longer his vision blurred at the edges, the more it drained out of him.

Gob managed to stay on his feet through the subdued morning rush. During that slow hour however, he leaned on the bar more and more until it held him upright. The fog worked its way into his eye sockets, dulling his reaction time. He wiped the bar, unaware of his deteriorating state, ignorant of the shadows that crept up his shoulders. As his feet grew heavy, his thoughts danced around Cassie. She was kind, he reminded himself, and good. The dream was not real. Right now, she was fighting to cripple raider operations at Evergreen Mills. She was winning. She would win.

The door opened – there she was. She'd fought and won and come to tell him of her victory.

"Hey Gob," she said with her winning smile.

The bartender's head drooped. "Oh, hey smoothskin," he crooned, gazing at her under his browline.

She pressed herself against the bar's opposite edge, slender fingers gripping the lip. She couldn't be here. She was supposed to be at Evergreen Mills. Was he still dreaming?

"You don't look too good," Cassie said. "Is everything okay?"

The ghoul tossed his head up to meet her eyes, though it bounced on his shoulders as if pulled by a string.

"Oh yeah," he replied, exaggerating his smile in the hopes of convincing hers to return. "I'm fine."

"You sure?" she asked.

"I told you, I'm fine. I'm fine."

Why were his words slurred? He braced his arms against the bar. Why did the floor look closer? He knew he was still standing. Maybe if he rested his forehead against the cool countertop, things would start making sense again.

"Gob!" Cassie cried, sprinting around the bar as the ghoul slumped against it and fell to the floor.


	9. Chapter 9

It was so bright. Why was it so bright? Even with his eyes closed, the light was too strong. It hurt. Everything hurt. His insides hurt. His outsides hurt. He couldn't tell which hurt more. He was hot and cold at the same time. He couldn't move, couldn't open his eyes – the light was out there. The light hurt.

As Gob took a moment to focus on breathing, the only thing he seemed capable of doing, he tried searching through his most recent memories. This didn't feel like one of Moriarty's heavy beating sessions, but he wouldn't rule it out. He remembered the smoothskin. She'd been there, screaming and clawing at her face. She wanted them to kill it. He couldn't forget what it was: him. That hurt. That hurt worse than whatever he had going on right now. She said –

No. That was a dream. It wasn't real. She said he was her friend. She was . . . Gosh, where was Cassie right now? He could really use a friendly face.

He felt a bit of pressure on his shoulder. Whatever it was, it hadn't been there a moment ago. When the light suddenly dimmed, he redoubled his efforts to open his eyes. He could figure out what was happening if he could just get them open.

The first thing he saw was white. There was so much white, and why did it have to be so bright? He tried to raise his arm to shield himself, but it wouldn't respond. Luckily, some big dark thing sat in the middle of the brightest bit. He struggled and fought but everything still hurt and it was hot except where it wasn't.

Then, an arm reached down towards him and he let it pull him the rest of the way to the surface. The hand held his tightly – so that's where that arm went, it was curled up against his chest.

Finally grounded, though he still was unsure where, his vision focused to the point that he could tell it was a person standing over him. They were calling his name. The sound was so sweet. A single note. Almost like music.

He closed his eyes to bask in its healing properties, but the hand clenched over his gave him a gentle shake. When he opened his eyes again, there she was – Cassie, the smoothskin – just like he'd wished. A blazing halo of light framed her perfectly rounded face and, next to her, it lost much of its sting. Angel. Where are your wings, sweet angel? You can fly away from this pit of despair. Fly away and be free. Be happy.

"Gob," she called again.

His dry lips parted. He barely managed a feeble squeak. "Am I dead?"

She smiled. If he was dead, it was okay. He was okay with dead.

"No," she said, smoothing the wrinkles in his shirt. "No you're not dead. Jeez, you just about gave me a heart attack though. One second you're standing there looking a little unsteady, and the next you're passed out on the floor. I didn't know what to do. I was so worried. I couldn't see anything wrong but you were out cold and I knew I had to do _something_ but I didn't know-"

When her words sped into a frantic torrent, Gob interrupted her, though it came out as more of an airy exhale than a full word.

"What?" she asked, leaning closer.

"Slow down smoothskin," he mumbled. "I can't listen that fast."

After a calming breath, she tried again. "Are you okay, Gob? Now, I mean?"

All in all, he was still unsure. He felt like he was tipped awkwardly, but that could be his balance figuring itself out. The light was still hot and bright, and he wasn't sure where he was precisely. Because his better judgment hadn't kicked in yet, he said the first thing that came to his mind.

"I think," he said, swallowing to moisten his throat, "I think I peed myself."

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "You're talking so quiet. Say that again," she said.

"My pants are wet," he said, gaining enough coherence to be embarrassed. "I think I peed myself."

"I don't think so," she said kindly. "You're just sitting in a puddle."

"I am?"

"Yeah," she said, leaning back against something large and wall-like. "We're both sitting in a puddle."

He took a moment to process this. Sitting. In a puddle.

"My pants are wet too," she added.

They sat there for a few minutes. It felt like a long time to Gob, with the sun beating down on him while he lay in Cassie's puddle. He could feel the water down the back of his legs and in his shoes. The lower part of his back was also wet, but he was bent at the waist – probably to keep his head out of the water. His upper body was cradled amongst a variety of cushy supports, which he realized were Cassie's limbs. She was holding him. If he held his breath, he could feel the steady rise and fall of her chest against his shoulder.

Instead of focusing on the fact that she was holding him in a somewhat intimate manner, his focus zeroed in on the hand that hovered over his chest. Fingers interlaced with his, every so often the thumb would run across the ruined flesh on the side of his hand.

"Smoothskin," he said.

"Hmm?" She sounded tired.

"You're holding my hand."

She looked down, as if noticing her grip on him for the first time. Before she could respond, Gob tightened his grasp, trapping her fingers with his. She squeezed his hand in return.

After another minute of comfortable silence, Cassie spoke.

"You sound better. Do you remember passing out?"

"A little," he said, but something still seemed out of place. When he was more together, he'd have to ask her about it. "It's all still a little hazy, but I've got bits and pieces."

"Do you remember why you passed out?" she asked.

"Bad morning," he replied, not wanting to upset her with his nightmare.

"Did Moriarty hurt you?"

"No."

"Did someone else hurt you?"

"No. Darn, I should be at the bar."

Gob's head lolled to the side and he finally saw something that wasn't sky. There was dirt around the water puddle and some walls farther in the distance. When he looked back towards Cassie, he took better notice of the thing she was leaning up against. It was metal, like a wall, but not quite as straight.

"Don't worry about that. I had a good shouting match with your sleazeball boss. Just take a minute to rest and recover."

She sounded really tired. He hoped Moriarty hadn't hurt her. Then again, where had he been for all this? Passed out, unable to pull her away or even jump between them to take the hits.

A sinking feeling came over him. He had to ask, "Where are we, exactly?"

"Sitting next to an undetonated nuclear warhead," she replied flatly.

Crud, he was right. This was the pool those Church of Atom guys stood in. No wonder he was feeling better – the radiation was as thick as the air this far in the crater. It would also explain why it was so unbearably hot.

After he got over the fact that he was sitting in a radioactive mud puddle, Cassie's arms tightened around him incrementally. His eyes flew open when he realized that meant she was getting irradiated too. Her face looked pale, and the skin on her hand was almost white.

Gob strained against her hold, but the water weighed down his clothes and he couldn't get any traction against the thick sludge at the bottom.

"Smoothskin," he pleaded when his position remained unchanged, "you can't stay down here. It's hurting you."

"Shh," she returned, leaning her head against the bomb's outer casing and shutting her eyes. It was evident how weary it had already made her. "Just . . . just let me enjoy this for a few more minutes."

"What? The brain-rotting radiation?" Gob said.

"No. This," she said, giving his hand a few weak squeezes. "You. Me. And a few thousand pounds of explosives."

"Look," he began, attempting to conjure a reason to extract himself from the arms of a beautiful woman while his every ache was being soothed away.

"Not too bad in terms of second dates, if you ask me." At least she still had the strength to give him that challenging smirk.

He couldn't help but chuckle. Even drained and soggy, she managed to cling to her terrible humor.

"He's right kid," a strange, deep voice interjected.

Gob hadn't noticed the growing crowd. Before then, it had been him and the smoothskin. Now, he identified close to a dozen faces peering in their direction. Even that eccentric shopkeeper, Moira, was here. Simms stood at the head of the group, dark arms crossed over his burly chest.

The sheriff continued, "You've been cooking in there for over an hour."

"An hour?" Gob echoed, turning to look at Cassie.

"I'm fine, Gob," she reassured him.

He stammered. "Smoothskin. All these people."

Now, Gob had two reasons to be fearful. Besides Cassie being stupidly wonderful enough to hold him in the middle of a radioactive puddle, there was now the issue of Cassie being stupidly wonderful enough to hold him in front of a quarter of the town. As much as he could, he wanted to protect her. He didn't want her to be shunned for associating with someone like him. Heck, he was practically sitting in her lap. If that didn't get the gossip mill going for the next week . . .

"Alright, fine," she hollered, shifting under him. "Leave it to a public venue to ruin a private moment."

While he had the strength to sit up without help, he still couldn't pull himself out of the water. After a couple seconds of fruitless efforts, a hand reached down to him.

"Let me help you, dearie," Mother Maya said.

Gob took the old woman's bony hand, but she didn't let that fool him – she pulled him to his feet, waterlogged clothes and all. His head swam when he stood. It probably wouldn't have hurt to sit and stew for a few more minutes. A little ways away, her husband raised his arms to the sky, proclaiming that Atom's chosen one had risen and encouraging others to draw closer to be strengthened by Atom's glow.

"Of course he's risen."

Looking over his shoulder, he found the smoothskin on her feet as well. She was over by Sheriff Simms. She looked different. Water soaked through her clothes, but they weren't her usual town attire, or even the reinforced mercenary armor she wore when she was about to head out or coming fresh from the wasteland. Her new apparel was obviously enhanced with mismatched metal and leather plates over her shoulders and down her legs, various pouches and holsters, a heavy metal band around one of her arms that he could only assume was the Pip-Boy she showed him, and an empty bandolier sagging over one of her hips. Otherwise, it stuck out because of its solid blue color. Had she been wearing that when she came in the bar, right before he passed out? He couldn't recall.

"Radiation heals him. The rest of us? Not so much." After she said her bit, Cassie bent over, propping her hands on her knees.

"Smoothskin," the ghoul called, shuffling forward. He kept his distance – people were still watching.

"You'd best get back to the saloon, boy," Simms said.

He was thankful that there wasn't any scorn or threat in his words, but Gob lowered his gaze all the same, rubbing one of his arms.

"Oh, yeah," he replied.

"Come on dearie, I'll help you up there. You still look a little unsteady on your feet," Maya offered, sliding up to him.

As the Church of Atom elder led him away, he craned his neck to make sure someone was attending to the smoothskin. Simms murmured something in her ear about going to see Church. He didn't offer her his arm to lean on, like Maya offered hers, even though Cassie swayed when she stood there, dripping and growing paler. He dearly hoped it wasn't because she'd been seen touching a ghoul, even when the sheriff pardoned his proximity by saying she was as hot as the darned nuke.

When her back was turned, he caught a glimpse of a spot of yellow on her new outfit. There was an oval bordered by two vertical lines. He knew it was significant, but couldn't place it in his memories.


	10. Chapter 10

If it was any consolation for the events of that morning, Moriarty did not beat Gob after he was brought back to the saloon. There was shouting and a rather red-faced Irishman, yet when it came to second-hand radiation, he seemed to share Simm's caution and stayed out of arm's reach. To keep him away from the merchandise and wary customers, for a few hours at least, Moriarty tossed his bartender into the back room they used for storage. He took inventory, scoured the entire area clean, and took inventory again under his boss's heavy scrutiny.

Gob worked through a haze of disbelief, waiting for someone to pop up and tell him the entire day was a joke. He was still waiting for someone to tell him the same thing about the last fifteen years of his enslavement, but until then, all he could do was wait.

He had trouble believing Cassie managed to get him out of the saloon during daylight hours. The smoothskin said she got in a shouting match with his boss. When he saw the way Colin favored his right leg through the lunch rush however, the startled ghoul wasn't sure shouting was the extent of their exchange. If he hurt her . . . Well, he couldn't do anything about it really, besides get slightly frustrated and feel even more helpless. To see his boss working the bar for such a length of time, especially injured, was a victory in itself. He didn't fear his next beating because of it. Gob returned to the bar a few hours before the evening crowd rolled in – plenty of time to get everything ready for their business peak.

When Cassie entered the bar that night, she found Gob seated at the bar's farthest edge, chewing mechanically. He normally sat there when he was allotted a short break to eat; Moriarty liked to keep him towards the back of the room. His plate was almost empty – cold squirrel bits left over from another customer by the look of it.

Adjusting the belt that secured her prized plasma rifle to her body, she made her way to the oblivious ghoul. After sidestepping a swaying man on his way out, she approached her friend and leaned in close to the side of his head. The squirrel must be inspiring some seriously enrapturing thoughts for him to have not noticed her yet.

Splitting a large grin, she whispered, "I'm glad to see you're alright."

As if someone dumped a bucket of ice water over his head, the ghoul spasmed and shot out of his seat. Finding Cassie, he calmed down but continued gaping. She still wore that strange blue suit, Pip-Boy around her wrist, but the color had returned to her cheeks and she appeared to have no trouble standing on her own.

"Smoothskin," he said at last, his voice rougher from the scare, and swore under his breath.

"I'm sorry," she said, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, "I didn't mean to interrupt your meal."

"Smoothskin," he tried again, certain he had a point to make. His mouth felt dry and he still had a bit of squirrel climbing down his throat.

The recognizable beat of boots echoed over their heads, drawing both pairs of eyes upwards. With a dazzling smirk, Cassie tapped the side of her nose with a finger and casually retreated to her normal seat on the bar. Gob barely had enough time to throw himself back on his chair before Moriarty clomped down the stairs. Spotting the vault girl, his eyes narrowed.

"So," he scoffed with a sneer, oblivious to the way Gob hunched into his plate when he passed, "'yer not dead yet."

Cassie gave the miserable man a sweet smile; Gob watched out of the corner of his eye. Running her hand along the countertop, she shook her head, freeing the cropped locks to fall on her cheeks.

"Nope," she replied, sounding chipper enough to rival Moira. "Maybe next time."

Colin stalked into the private room, growling curses without bothering to offer her service. The bartender noticed he no longer walked with a limp. Either that, or he was making a strong effort to conceal it.

A lighter set of footfalls descended the rickety staircase. Looking over his shoulder, Gob caught sight of Nova. She glanced up at him on her way back to her post, looking sullen and bored.

Turning back to his squirrel bits, he ate as quickly as he could, nearly choking on the last couple pieces. Normally he stretched out his breaks as long as he dared, given Moriarty's mood on any given day and the number of ghoul-hating newcomers in the saloon.

When he finished, he cleaned the plate and bellied up to the front of the bar, a dirty rag in each hand. She watched with an expectant grin, but all he could do was breathe through his mouth.

"Hi Gob," she purred, succeeding in breaking him out of his trance.

"Smoothskin," he said, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"If you 'smoothskin' me one more time," she warned, a finger pointed at him playfully.

"Cassie," he returned, the finality of his own voice startling him.

That got her attention. She shut up and waited while many thoughts flew around behind his chapped lips. There was so much he wanted to ask her – Evergreen Mills, the bomb, Moriarty. Eventually, he fell back on an old habit.

"It's good to see you again," he rasped. Though nowhere near covering what he wanted to say, it was a start.

She didn't respond, merely peered back at him with the eyes of a stalking predator. He backed down quickly but returned moments later with a chilled Nuka-Cola. She took a sip.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," she said.

"Me?" Gob barked. This kid spent an hour in radioactive water and she was worried about him? "What about you? The last I saw, you were-"

"Dead enough to get Moriarty's hopes up?" she finished with a tilted brow. "Hardly. A few packs of Rad-Away fixed me right up. I'm ready to kick butt and take names. How'd you like to volunteer?"

"Kid," he said, shoulders hunched, "a lot of people saw . . . well, they saw you . . ."

"Saw me what?" she asked, leaning in.

He dropped his gaze, hands running nervously across the wood surface. To say it was one thing. To do it in public was a whole other level of sacrilege.

"Saw me, touch a ghoul?" she inquired, tilting her head up at him.

His eyes shifted around, reluctant to verify the accusation. However, when he looked back down at her, he found her pointed finger extending across the bar. She poked him square in the chest. Embarrassingly ticklish, he had to bite back a chuckle as his hand flew to the spot to defend against further assault.

It clearly wasn't her intent, as she immediately leaned back on the barstool, hands flailing about.

"I touched a ghoul," she said in a speaking voice loud enough for the entire bar to hear. "Oh no!"

Gob's eyes swept the saloon's patrons until her hands stilled and she settled on a brash grin. Though no one appeared to be paying attention, appearances meant very little when it came to professional gossipers and eavesdroppers.

"Look," he tried, "you can't . . . can't just-"

"I think I just did," she said pointedly. "Good grief Gob. I know the only thing contagious about you is that adorable blush and I can handle everything else. Darn it – smile! I thought you said you were happy to see me."

Though he ducked his head to hide it, he could not fight the grin that overtook his face at her ludicrous flattery. Ghouls couldn't blush, thank goodness, but his bashfulness won out in the end.

"I am happy to see you," he murmured, trying to compose himself. He took a calming breath, but the smile remained. "And thank you, for what you did. I'm not really sure what happened."

"Don't mention it. You're okay. I'm okay. That's what matters, right?"

Try as he might, he couldn't ignore the very real probability that she had spent the last few hours vomiting in a cold sweat while receiving treatment for an extreme case of radiation poisoning.

"You are okay, right?" she asked, swiping her eyes to the side. "He hasn't been too hard on you, has he?"

"Nah, he hasn't touched me at all today."

When Billy Creel approached her from behind and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, Gob dropped his gaze.

"Hey," the scavenger said, "glad to see you're doing okay."

"Thanks Billy," she said, turning to smile at the kind thought.

The barkeeper waited until the other man left through the front door before returning to his place.

"So, what's that you got on, smoothskin?" he asked, falling into the routine of worrying a tumbler with a cloth.

Her fingers skirted over the sleek material. Admittedly, he could not help his eyes from lingering on the feminine curves accented by the skin-hugging outfit.

"This old thing?" she asked, looking up in time to see his gaze dart away. "Don't you like it?" When all he did was stutter and scrub at the glass in his hands, she continued, "What? You're not a fan of full-body condoms?"

Gob hid his face in his hands, heedless of the smelly rag. "Never say that again, please."

"I thought you'd recognize it," she said, scooting off her seat and turning around. "You of all people."

With her back turned to him, he could once again see the peculiar yellow shapes. At last, he realized it was a number – 101.

"Your vault suit?" he asked, silently congratulating himself for keeping his eyes above her waistline. The last vault suit he saw was her father's, and that was mostly obscured by a heavy white coat. "Why are you wearing that?"

She sat back down, rubbing the sweat from her cola bottle. "You were right," she said, "as always. I wore plain clothes because it was strategically smart for me to do so. I don't have to hide it anymore. I don't have to hide who I am. Now, people know exactly who they're dealing with. Truth in advertising and all that."

This was heavy. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to say anything. Luckily, she filled the silence after a short pause.

"You know, I thought raiders and slavers would drop their guard when they saw the blue – make my job easier because they thought they found an easy mark. But get this: when they see me coming now, they run. I cleared out two camps without firing a single shot. I don't know whether to be ticked off or gratefully accept it."

"I say be grateful," Gob replied, glad that the flimsy suit offered her some special protection.

"I guess it's a good way to tell who listens to GNR and who doesn't," she mused, taking a sip of her drink. "The one downside is that it cuts down on my loot haul. I barely had half a bag when I got back yesterday. I'm going to be broke and poor little A3's gonna dry up without stuff to kill."

"That's another thing I don't understand," he said in a low voice, swapping out glasses. "How'd you get back so quick? I thought you'd be at Evergreen Mills at least until the end of the week."

"The storm, Gob," she answered. "Didn't you hear the rain? I got three-quarters of the way there, saw the storm clouds moving in, turned around, and walked right back home."

Well, she did promise she'd come back to rethink her plan if anything went wrong. He was glad she didn't try to clear out a raider base in the middle of a rare desert deluge.

With a huff, Nova peeled herself off the wall and came to stand behind the famous wanderer, hands clutched submissively over the front of her skirt. Gob saw the redhead walk over, looking a little less perky than most days, but it took a few seconds for Cassie to notice that her attention was wanted.

"Hey," Nova said when the other girl swiveled her seat around. Her eyes were down. This was obviously a delivery she was not proud to make. "I just wanted to say, thank you. What you did for Gob, he . . . Well, he means a lot to me."

Cassie remained silent for a few moments, processing her words of thanks and allowing her to say more if she wished, while Gob widened his eyes at the admission. Nova never said he meant a lot to her before. Sure, there was a sort of solidarity from banding together as indentured servants from the early days, but nothing ever that clearly phrased.

When Nova made no move to add anything further, Cassie did not offer any immediate response, only leaned forward. Resting a hand on the older woman's shoulder, she gave a small smile, one that spoke volumes.

"I know things may look dark," the wanderer said, "and hopeless, but I'm here for you." Looking over her shoulder, she laid her other hand over Gob's, stilling him as he unconsciously rubbed his dishrag over a glass. "Both of you."

Nova nodded, but as her head bobbed up and down, her eyes scrunched tightly shut and her pursed lips opened to reveal a trembling frown. Cassie released the ghoul's hands to welcome the shivering woman into a loose embrace, allowing her to rest her forehead on her chest while her shoulders shook with noiseless sobs.

Gob couldn't believe what he was seeing. Nova was a strong a person as Cassie, and while he'd seen her wistful or trite, he'd never seen her so openly distressed. In addition to that, Nova and Cassie rarely interacted or spoke with each other. He knew there was no animosity between the two, yet it was simply the case of two north-oriented magnets staying out of each other's space. He'd only seen one other person receive such gentle kindness from the bar-brawling, order-keeping, raider-slaying hero of the wastes – him.

The brunette petted the other woman's hair, heedless of the attention drawn to her corner of the bar. "Be strong," she whispered. "It's not much longer now."

Nova nodded, extracting herself from the other girl's hold. With a couple shy smiles, she returned upstairs to rest, dabbing at her eyes even though no tears fell.

When Cassie turned around, she noticed the bartender's slack jaw of disbelief and confusion. He tried to say something, anything, but the words dried up on his tongue.

Sensing his hesitation, she spoke up. "Look out for her, Gob," she said, her voice somber while she scrubbed her knuckles. "It doesn't take much to make a difference in one person's life."

Gob nodded dumbly. He didn't know what she meant by making a difference, but he doubted she could be talking about anyone other than Nova. The one thing that made it through to him was her mandate to protect Nova, to watch out for her. He didn't know how, or what that entailed, but knowing Cassie would never settle him with an impossible task, he resolved to do exactly as she said.

She finished off her Nuka-Cola, apparently tired of the direction their conversation veered.

"Plans to go back?" he asked at last. "To Evergreen Mills I mean."

She smiled, remembering what they were talking about a few minutes before. "In a couple days or so," she admitted. "I'm sure this dry ground sucked up all the water by now, but I don't want to chance running into a puddle when I'm not expecting one. Besides, I can only imagine how paranoid rain must make all those strung-out raiders."

Gob smiled. Cassie was back in Megaton and the world was as it should be once again. After talking a little more about storms of the past, she told him about a new book she found – a jewel among jewels for a romantic sap like her. She stayed until they locked up, when Moriarty stuck his head into the saloon and barked at her for still being there past closing time. After pushing caps into the ghoul's hand, she left with a promise to return the following day.


	11. Chapter 11

She came back the following day but not the next, reblazing her warpath to Evergreen Mills. Worry plagued the ghoul the same way as the first time she left. He kept his ear on the radio, making sure no one reached to turn it off and holding his breath whenever Three Dog's voice interrupted the overplayed tunes. Just as she'd vowed, however, the first news of the former raider stronghold came directly from Cassie's lips.

They celebrated with cold beer and an extra large plate of mirelurk cakes to share – when no one was looking of course. If she hadn't practically hosted a picnic on his lap, he wouldn't have dreamed of sharing food off another person's plate. The girl dropped her caution when it came to casually brushing her hand against his, insisting that people needed to get over their stigmas, but Gob held back. This was the one way he could protect her, so he kept a safe distance between them.

Three Dog didn't get wind of her most recent act of heroism until a couple days later, but she was back in the wasteland by then. She had plans to visit Underworld on her way to an unexplored vault and practically begged Gob for a letter to give Carol. Though she promised to take him back to his old home one day, Gob couldn't see it happening anywhere in the near future. He did, however, manage to pry that romance novel out of her clutches, but only after assuring her, at length, that he could handle as much corny mush as she could.

He could almost predict her return to Megaton to the day. Cassie got a lot more attention whenever she was in town – no longer hiding her status as Miss 101 – and he noticed her smiling more often because of it. Though she said she lied to everybody, he couldn't anticipate the rush of liveliness that infected their humble scrap settlement when that same "everybody" found out at once. It was like they suddenly had a celebrity in their midst, and in a way, they did. Gob learned that only Moriarty, Simms, and Moira knew about her from the beginning. He wished he'd figured it out sooner, but she was a good actress. At the same time, he'd been very dense.

Because she treated him as an equal, he began noticing the other citizens' attitudes towards him shifting as well, though it was a subtle change. Simms was the first one to look him in the eyes and shake his hand, but Billy quickly picked up her mantle of humanity and could be expected to greet the astounded ghoul with a handshake and a few cordial words every other day – even when Cassie was not in town. Other settlers looked him in the face, gradually managing to lock their gaze with him for longer periods of time. At first it was creepy. When he found himself getting used to it, his work at the grungy bar got that much brighter.

Whenever it happened, he forgot about his affliction. For a few short minutes, he remembered himself as a man – he _was_ that man – with skin, and hair, and a paying job, and a mean boss, and a woman at work that he had a crush on, and another woman who was his best friend, and a town full of people no different from him. Then he looked down and saw his arms, and the illusion shattered, but he still had Cassie's words: you are a human being, no matter what your appearance.

He saw more of Megaton's child population – now that their parents were more agreeable to the idea of a ghoul living among them – and couldn't begrudge their childlike curiosity, for he saw a lot of that in Cassie when he first met her. Moriarty was the same as ever, and Jericho was still nasty, but the bartender could now readily depend on a fair amount of backup whenever someone would fling a slur or empty bottle at him.

Now, her regular seat at the bar was always waiting for her or quickly vacated out of respect. She no longer covertly spoke about herself in the third person, instead deciding to pick up where they left off on that private night together and told him the true stories of her adventures. When she gave him the story of her victory at Evergreen Mills, the memory still fresh and detailed, many pairs of eyes and ears turned to her to listen in. She told him some of her other discoveries in the wastes, like a vault run amok with belligerent clones and how she met the real Herbert "Daring" Dashwood. Wanderers, caravaneers, as well as Megaton locals, drew up chairs around her when she launched into one of her anecdotes. Whenever they did, Gob withdrew slightly but stayed within listening distance. Based on the gazes she snuck in his direction, the bashful ghoul knew Cassie was still speaking to him. Only for him.

Moriarty couldn't complain – a crowd gathered around her and that kept the booze flowing. Even some of the people Gob thought he'd never see inside the saloon came in for a drink and the tight sense of community that swarmed around their local icon. Moira and her bodyguard came in, as well as Doc Church and even a Stahl sibling from time to time. But Gob lived for the quiet hours, early in the mornings or sometimes late in the day, when it was just the two of them, when she spoke to him as if they were the last people left on earth. Because she was so good for business, his boss no longer cracked down on them when she monopolized his bartender in those slow times. Emboldened, Gob spoke more and looked over his shoulder less, satisfying her youthful hunger with stories from his past – stories about a world long since gone.

Presently, she sat at the bar, leaning an elbow against its grainy surface and resting her chin in her palm. Besides the minute upward curl of her lips, she wore a bored expression. He couldn't tell if she was as bored as her half-lidded eyes suggested – a smile seemed to be part of her natural state. What he couldn't ignore was the way her gaze constantly tracked his movements, even when it was only cup scrubbing.

"Cap for your thoughts, smoothskin?" he inquired.

She split a full grin at this, all straight teeth parting to reveal a shy pink tongue. "Just thinking how cute you look doing that," she replied, eyes flashing with mischief.

Gob choked on the sour saloon air, sputtering as the slippery glass within the rag slipped out. Midair, he fumbled the tumbler for a couple seconds, but between the slick glass and the greasy rag, it wound up in pieces on the floor.

Cassie leaned over the bar to inspect the crash sight, eyebrows raised. "Whoops," she said, settling back on her stool.

The ghoul swore under his breath at the shattered glass between his shoes. "Go home kid," he said, wincing at the sound of his knees creaking when they bent. "You're drunk."

Luckily, Moriarty was out for the evening. Else she could be in some serious trouble for trying to defend someone like him when his boss's heavy hand fell. Then again, Colin wasn't one to always require a justification for the way he mistreated his staff.

As he returned from the floor, pointed shards gently cradled in his palms, the girl tipped one of her empty bottles at him.

"I am?" she asked, examining the empty container. "Have you been secretly spiking my Nuka-Cola, Gob?"

He tossed the broken cup in a nearby bin. Turning back, he met her expectant stare as she continued displaying the bottle beside her. Letting out a huff through his nose, he knew she was right – she'd stuck to cola this evening as plainly evidenced by the trio of rocket-shaped bottles. Even when she had beer, he couldn't recall a time ever seeing her the slightest bit tipsy.

"You start saying crazy things like that, I can only wonder," he admitted.

"You think I drink to make you pretty?"

Reaching for the rag he threw on the counter, he suddenly found his wrist arrested in her grasp. For having such thin, delicate fingers, she sure had one heck of a grip. Reflexively, he tried to pull away.

"Quit squirming" she ordered, all traces of joking suddenly gone from her tone.

If it were anyone else, he might have been afraid. He spared a few quick glances to the side to ensure no one was giving their interaction an undue amount of attention, but then he recalled that this was the only smoothskin he would trust with his life. Nothing else to do, he focused on the places their skin touched, the way her slender digits wrapped around his partially skinned wrist.

When he relaxed the tension in his arm, Cassie drew his hand across the bar. "Don't move," she murmured, turning his hand over.

He was confused, and slightly concerned until he saw the small glass fragment jutting out of his palm. With the gentleness of a woman and the practiced skill of a surgeon, she drew back a loose piece of skin and removed the shard wedged underneath. Moving the shard to her own palm, she ran her fingers over the same area on his hand, presumably checking for cuts.

"Thanks," he said when she finished, bringing up both hands to check for any more lingering pieces.

"No problem," she chirped, flicking the glass fragment into the bin behind the bar.

Same rag, new glass, the bartender resumed his routine. She moved to lean her elbow against the counter, but he snapped the cloth at her arm.

"Are we going to do this again?" he barked.

"Do what?"

Huffing, Gob turned away, though he could not hide his smirk. He wanted to ask her about another night in the saloon but couldn't think of a discrete way to do so. The bar wasn't quite empty yet and it would be unfair to pressure her into spending however many caps before she was ready. He was afraid she'd forgotten, but she was right – they still had this time together. Even if she changed her mind, he convinced himself that he could carry on with only the memories to cling to.

A few moments later, a third voice spoke up. "Excuse me, Miss 101?"

Cassie swiveled to find the resident sniper standing with hands held behind his back.

"That's my name, don't wear it out," she replied with a tired sigh. "Seriously, just Cassie's fine."

Gob stole glances as the other smoothskin talked to the vault girl. Though talking was his intent, the most it appeared he could manage was mindless stuttering between shifting on his feet. When she settled a hand on Stockholm's arm, a physical pang shot through the ghoul's chest. He looked away. What was this now? Envy? Of course he was envious; she was an amazing gal and the man that won her affections would have to be just as special. Then again, he was the brahmin wishing for wings – thinking that he had a place in that pool of candidates. He had a face only a brahmin could love to boot.

Raising his gaze, a bittersweet smile settled over his frown. He once observed the sniper wasn't the worst of choices Megaton had to offer. He still stood by that decision, even if the man was a huge gossip.

"That's so sweet of you," her voice carried over to his disintegrated ear, "but I'm already packed up to leave tomorrow. Some other time, 'kay?"

"O-okay, some other time," the man replied, shuffling a retreat while juggling a sheepish smile. Good grief, he was practically dripping a puddle of hope as he made it out the front door.

She shot him down again? Of course she did it kindly, but wasn't she even the slightest bit interested? It was obvious she could support herself, but the soft-spoken brunette held one of the most stable jobs in the whole town. A steady trickle of income was nothing to scoff at, and it proved he wasn't a typical freeloader.

And then what about her? She was still young, but she wasn't exactly "wasteland young." Pairing off and marriage came, in most cases, during the mid to late teen years. Then again, with her reputation and looks, she could probably get any guy she wanted even if she waited until she turned thirty.

Maybe she already had someone. The thought soured on the back of Gob's tongue. She was popular in Megaton, but he had to imagine the same went for places like Rivet City and Canterbury Commons. She'd mentioned that Harkness guy a few times before, and every caravan that swung by seemed to be on a first-name basis with her.

"What?" she asked, noticing Gob staring at her.

He shook his head to clear some of the random thoughts. "Just surprised you keep sending a guy like him packing."

"Huh." she mused, looking back at the door as if he might reappear. "I know what you mean, but I didn't really peg him as your type."

"My? He's not –"

"Relax, I'm only kidding," she said, finishing off the last swig of Nuka-Cola. Leaning in, she lowered her voice. "Besides, I heard you were quite the ladies' man back in Underworld."

Gob ducked his head. He would not be reduced to a blushing fool – not in front of her. Who knew what kinds of things she heard from the chatty museum ghouls. The smoothskin was probably a balm of current news and fresh life in that place.

"Oh, doy," she exclaimed, thumping her forehead. "I knew there was something I was forgetting. It keeps floating between my packs and I can never remember to bring it with me."

From her small canvas bag, she produced yet another bent envelope, yellowed with age. Gob took the letter, always grateful to hear how Carol was faring.

"If I was a mail courier, I'd be fired," she continued.

"Yeah, stick to your day job," he chided.

Before he could tuck the note in his back pocket, she said, "Well go on and read it. See what she has to say."

The barkeeper swept his gaze across the room. He didn't expect anyone else to come in – not this late – and everyone remaining had already been served. Shrugging because Moriarty was off chumming it up with Jericho, he returned the letter to the counter and tenderly removed the folded paper from inside.

Most of the message was the usual well wishes and assurances that all was well in Underworld. His adoptive mother said she was endlessly proud of him, and he was eternally grateful Cassie had been kind to her with a lie. If Carol knew he was a slave, he had no doubt she would scorch a warpath all the way from the mall to Megaton. Like she said in almost every one of her letters though, the journey was too dangerous.

Carol tacked on an extra bit at the end about the smoothskin. If he could blush, he'd be scarlet. Glancing up, he noticed her staring with a knowing smile as he read.

"Did you read this?" he demanded.

"No. What kind of person do you think I am? I don't snoop in other people's mail. Why? What's it say? Is she talking about me?"

"Cassie," he warned.

"Oo, using the first name. Okay, fine. Topic dropped."

Gob reread a few sentences and then finished the letter, sighing as he often did when he thought of home.

"You should make a move on that smoothskin girl," Cassie crooned, imitating Carol's raspy whisper. "She's sweet and cute and just right for you. Mothers know these sorts of things."

Gaping, he glared between the letter and the girl. "I thought you said you didn't read it!"

"Wait, seriously? Is that what it said?" she said, chuckling as she reached for the letter. He held it out of her grasp. "I was just guessing. You looked real . . . flustered. Did it really say that?"

"No!" he huffed. "She warned me to say away from you. Said you're a bad influence."

"C'mon, let me see," she begged.

Eventually, he had to stuff the note in his pocket, but even then she badgered him. Any other time, a smoothskin girl – especially this one – groping for his pants would be a very serious occasion. When she did not relent, he pulled a small paring knife out from under the counter, pointing it towards her to defend himself.

"No," he snapped, though he couldn't keep a straight face.

Her hand retreated to her lap but returned a moment later to mirror his stance with her much larger combat knife.

"Mine's bigger," she replied, poking the tip of his blade with hers. He could tell she was fighting to keep an uncontrollable laugh at bay.

Exasperated, Gob dropped his head. She continued touching their knives together as he broke down into a fit of chuckles. When her musical laugh broke free, his joined it. The sound was better than what he imagined Moriarty saying "you're free" would be like. As their laughter continued, Cassie made small slashing motions at his weapon, and they had a miniature duel over the counter.

When they could giggle no more, Cassie wiped at her eyes. They put away their weapons, coming down from the mutual high.

"You can give me a reply letter whenever you're ready," she said between lingering chuckles. "Then again, I might have to make sure you two aren't saying bad things behind my back. I hate feeling left out."

"Well, if you're going to be like that . . ." Gob trailed off, stopping to listen. A thunderous chorus, like a beating drum, was approaching the saloon. As it got closer, he realized it sounded like someone running along the metal walkways.

Not a moment later, the door flew open. "Cassie," Simms gasped. "We could really use your help out here."

He didn't linger, the darkness enveloping him as he raced off. Cassie was on her feet, pausing in the silence left by the sheriff. In the distance, and now with the door open, the tiny pops of gunfire percolated into the saloon.

Calmly, methodically, she unslung her iconic plasma rifle from her back. The green liquid inside the crystal barrel glowed as it warmed up with an ominous hum. With it resting in her hands, Gob understood the last sight that filled many an unfortunate raider's view.

"Sorry hon," she tossed over her shoulder with a smirk, "but Momma's gotta work."

There was something in her clear eyes, a brief flash among the confidence and righteous ferocity. Bloodlust. It was not crazed or without cause. It was one of the most beautifully dazzling things he'd ever seen.

Without another moment's hesitation, she became a blue streak leading out of the building, taking her laughter with her.


	12. Chapter 12

"Oh honey," Nova cooed sadly as she pushed away from the wall to stand beside him. He'd been prodding at his ribs again.

"I'm fine," Gob said, putting up a hand – a silent plea for her to keep back.

The woman nodded, leaning against the bar. "I don't know how you hold up against this, every other night." Her smile was soft and pitying.

Self-consciously, he dropped his hand, only partially convinced they were not broken this time. Moriarty was deceptively strong and had twenty-four hour access to an easy target whenever his whiskey made him ornery. Needless to say, a bar owner also had access to a nearly unlimited supply of whiskey, and he was not a happy drunk. The ghoul's only consolation was that he did not have to sleep with the Irish idiot to cover rent and "other expenses." Nobody wanted to bed a corpse. Then again, Nova walked away with a fair amount of bruises on occasion, suggesting she was familiar with drunk Colin as well. He hoped the man died of liver failure.

Reluctant to say these things, he kept his mouth shut, lowering his gaze in all-familiar shame.

"Don't give up, Gob," she said, bumping him with her hip. "Cassie won't let him keep us here forever."

He didn't let her see how much her companionable gesture pained him. Watching the natural sway of her hips as she returned to her post below the stairs, Gob remembered the wanderer's mandate. Protect her. Protect Nova. That meant silent endurance, redirecting Moriarty's wrath away from the weary barmaid. There were many things he could ask for from the Savior of the Wastes – a miracle was not one of them. He didn't want to see her turn their humble town upside down and get gunned down by the local lawman because he couldn't suck up a couple bumps and scrapes.

The bartender went slow as he stooped to lift a crate of Nuka-Cola onto the shelves. It was still early in the evening, and the saloon was bound to get busier whenever the heavy drinkers decided to show up.

"Hey ghoul," the scavver from the corner table called. "Another plate of iguana over here."

"Coming right up," he rasped, a sudden wave of exhaustion rolling over him as he went back into the storage room for more iguana.

As he watched the tangy meat warm up – which sounded as exciting as it was – Nova approached the bar again.

"Want me to take it to him?" she questioned, her voice low.

"No, I've got it," he replied, refusing to remove his eyes from the broiling lizard. Before she left, he called her back. "Nova?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you," he said.

Smiling, she gave his hand a quick squeeze. A spike of warmth shot up his arm as she ambled back across the room.

When the food finished cooking, he slid it onto a clean plate and took it to the bearded man. He had small, squinted eyes and certainly didn't appear to be starving. He was big before the first two servings.

"Took 'ya long enough," he muttered, rearranging the brown chunks before consuming them.

Gob shuffled back to the bar, picking up his favorite cleaning tool along the way. As he ran his hand over the worn countertop, mindful to not overextend his arm, his tired gaze focused on the front door. He could really use a friendly face. When the door remained closed, he turned the radio up.

At least he didn't have long to dwell. The caravan team seated at the other side of the bar was ready for refills. From their conversation, it sounded like they came from up north – the Commonwealth. They'd already paid for a couple of rooms and seemed quite content downing booze and staying in the saloon until they continued on their way.

Finished with his meal, the barrel-chested scavver waddled up to Nova. His introduction was interrupted by a wet-sounding belch and he probably had bits of food in his beard, but it was obvious he was interested in a different kind of meat.

"Sorry hon," Nova purred, discretely sliding down the wall to avoid his thick fingers, "but I don't take anything less than one-twenty."

"Your loss, baby," he replied, giving her cheek a soft smack before turning to leave.

"Hey," Gob called after him. "It's eighteen caps for the dinner. Hey! You can't leave without paying."

The man grinned as he reached for the front door. "Watch me," he sneered.

When he opened the door he found the pointed barrel of a fancy-looking gun pressed against his squishy belly. His expression dropped.

"What do you think this is? An economic recession? Pay your bill and get out."

Nodding frantically, the man tottered back to the bar and slapped down a fistful of caps without counting. After he fled, quiet conversation returned to the barroom.

"Cassie," Gob greeted as she sat, doing his best to stand normally while not pressing his stomach too hard against the bar's lip. "Smoothskin. Boy, am I glad to see you." In his state, it would have been rather unpleasant to chase after a belligerent customer.

Colin's door flew open and the cross saloon owner stomped out. "What's this about someone not payin'?" he barked.

"It's okay, sir," the ghoul stuttered, avoiding looking at his employer's face. "Cassie stopped him before he could leave."

"And it looks like he left you a little something extra," she said idly, spreading the caps out with her finger. "Seven caps more than what he owed."

Moriarty growled, swiping the payment off the counter and depositing it in the register. The ghoul shied back from his jerky movements.

"Thank 'ye, Miss Cass," he said with a cardboard smile. "We can always count on 'ya to be a good girl an' do the right thing."

"It's what I'm here for," she replied.

The older man stalked back to his private room. In his absence, the caravaneers continued their conversation under their breaths.

"Can I get you something to drink, smoothskin?" Gob asked. Then, in a whisper, he demanded, "Where have you been? You've been gone for two weeks."

Loud enough for an eavesdropping bar owner to hear, Cassie responded, "Mm, a beer'll be good." She similarly dropped her voice to yell whispers at him. "What do you mean, 'Where have I been?' Exploring DC. What are you now – my mother?"

It was hard to talk so quietly with his rough voice. "I worry about you."

"Well I'm obviously fine. I can handle myself out there, you know." Her eyes sparkled deviously.

"Good, but that doesn't make you invincible."

"Why are you still whisper-shouting?" she continued, angling over the bar.

"Because you're still whisper-shouting."

They paused, recoiling from the unintentional close proximity generated by both of them leaning in to hear the other.

"So, did I miss anything while I was gone?" Cassie asked in a regular speaking voice.

Gob shrugged. "Not really. Moira's guard quit, so she had to get a new one."

"Again?" she exclaimed. "I mean, I know why, but good grief woman. You'd think she'd get the hint by now."

"Yeah, I only heard out about it 'cause he came here right after he walked out. It looked like he had chemical burns all the way up one of his arms."

"Good grief woman," she repeated.

There was another pause. Cassie picked at her nails and tucked a rebellious lock of hair behind her ear.

"Can I get that beer now?" she requested.

"Oh, yeah," he said, scurrying to retrieve a bottle. "I wasn't sure if you were serious about that."

She wiped the condensation off the amber glass with the sleeve of her vault suit and passed him a few caps. "You got any mirelurk?"

"Yeah, but I wouldn't recommend it," he said, grimacing when he recalled the funky smell coming off the pale seafood.

She popped the top off and took a couple lazy swallows with a shrug. Walter came in, forced to take a seat at the corner of the bar because his usual spot was taken by the caravan team. The bartender had his regular order ready for him. On the radio, the Ink Spots faded out to make way for Three Dog re-reporting the destruction of Evergreen Mills and the resulting decline in raider activity from Girdershade to downtown DC. Nothing could quell his enthusiasm, even this long after the fact. After howling the heroic girl's praises, he started the next string of tunes.

"So Gob," she said casually, twirling the half empty bottle on the bar. "How would you feel about another mini vacation?"

The ghoul's murky eyes widened. "R-really?"

"Yeah, really," she said. "That's why I'm asking you."

He thought he'd have to wait a lot longer for her to collect enough caps. However much his boss charged for his company, she implied it wasn't a meager amount. When she frowned, he realized he'd been staring dumbly.

"You can say no if you don't want to," she amended, taking another sip.

If he didn't want to? This was the one thing he'd been waiting forward to all month. "No! No, no no no," he exclaimed quickly. She only looked confused.

He sighed, cutting the air with his hands. "I mean," he tried, tripping over his words. "Look."

"It wouldn't inconvenience you?" she filled in for him.

He smiled, her small grin returning. "No. Far from it."

Finally she was smiling. Cassie took another swig from her beer before tapping a finger to the side of her nose, an added wink completing the secret instruction.

Feigning forgetfulness, Gob lifted a hand to mirror the gesture but could only wave his finger in front of the empty space of his missing nasal organ. The smoothskin giggled at his silent humor before sliding off her seat. Leisurely making her way around the bar, pack in hand, she sent Gob another wink before bursting into Moriarty's private room with a swift kick.

"Wake up, 'ya Irish zit," she bellowed. "I got a bone to pick with you."

He faintly heard his boss's biting retorts as she closed the door behind her. She may be unconventional, but at least it provided some good cover for her to have a discussion with the unpleasant man – no doubt one regarding an upcoming night with the two of them together, alone. Chuckling at her colorful phrasing, he wondered when that night would be.

After approximately ten minutes, she reappeared. In that time, Jericho, Billy, and two other wastelanders came in but reverently left her seat open. The gentle murmurings at the bar elevated to a mild hum. Gob sidestepped as she slid past him, passing out drinks and tepid plates of food – including the questionable mirelurk.

Sliding back into her seat, Cassie scrunched up her nose. "You're right," she said as he made his way back down to her. "That did smell off."

"Yeah, he won't notice the difference though," he replied, joining the girl in giving Jericho a furtive glance. Leaning over the counter on one arm, he lowered his voice, being intentionally vague. "So, you worked everything out?"

"Yep," she quipped. "Everything's set."

A muted crash sounded from the back room. Cassie and Gob turned their heads curiously, but the door remained shut.

"He's all upset," she drawled with a cheeky smirk.

"He didn't give you any trouble or anything, right?"

"Nah," she said, waving a dismissive hand, "nothing like that. He can be very civil when he wants to be, but it's probably just all the caps going to his head. I think it comes down to jealousy more than anything."

"Jealousy?" he questioned, not sure what she meant.

"Well yeah," she said. "Just because he knew me as a baby doesn't mean he has any reservations against getting into my vault suit pants. If vault suits had pants, that is."

"Wow." The heaping pile of disgust he held for his boss gained another layer. He knew the man would shamelessly flirt, but her words suggested more than veiled suggestions. Gob could only hope Moriarty didn't say anything she hadn't learned in the vault.

"He thinks I'm mentally ill," she continued proudly, "and apparently has, quote, 'one that will not effing fall off.'"

So much for vault-rated content, though she appeared to be taking his vulgarity in stride. Momentarily forgetting about his pain, Gob scrubbed his hand across the countertop with renewed vigor.

"Of all the ridiculous things," he muttered, not necessarily wanting Cassie to hear. "Falling off indeed."

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

As the evening dragged on, they made small talk. Cassie's latest trip yielded a pleasantly surprising discovery – the old Hubris Comics building. She picked up some quick reading material but said she'd much rather find an actual bookstore. Apparently, the library she'd found was inhabited by Brotherhood squatters and picked clean of anything remotely legible.

Billy invited her to join him at his table, so she talked to him for a bit while Gob served drinks. More and more people came into the bar. Nova picked up a tray to alleviate some of the pressure on the poor bartender – sweet as honey, even when she had to swat Jericho's hands away from her behind whenever she passed.

When Cassie returned to her seat at the bar, she looked like she'd just arm-wrestled a yao guai.

"Maggie?" Gob guessed while wiping out a large glass. It was common knowledge the one-eyed scavenger would spend hours talking about his adopted daughter, particularly if she did anything noteworthy or commendable. Or anything, really.

Resting her head in her hands, she gave him a tired grin. "I love that little girl to death," she said, "but nobody needs to hear that she ate all the vegetables on her plate last night."

He started to chuckle, but their merriment was cut short by an opening door and a firm hand grasping at his collar. Panicking, Gob was barely able to set down the things in his hands before his boss wrenched him around the bar and strong-armed him in the direction of the stairs.

Cassie watched, mouth slightly open as the stammering ghoul stumbled up the steps. No one else seemed to give the spectacle a second glance.

As he was hoisted up the first few paces, Gob felt a heavy sense of dread rising up within him. The smoothskin said she made arrangements, but he assumed she meant to do the same thing she did before – return the next day with payment, her disguise, and a backpack full of junk food. She told him all about it the last time around. What unsettled him was the look on her face when he glanced back at her, still more confused than anything at that point.

She looked shocked when Colin grabbed him by the scruff like a dog. She wasn't expecting this to happen. Suddenly, he was worried. If he wasn't being put upstairs for her, then who?

He wanted to do something other than limply allow himself to be pushed along. Cassie said to tell her if Moriarty ever sold him for bedroom company. The urge to call out for the smoothskin swelled as he was marched forward. Then again, pleading her name before she disappeared from view would accomplish nothing besides noisemaking. She saw what was happening to him; she knew the situation without his input. If she was planning on doing something, that was her decision. But boy, he wanted to call for her help, even if it was only for his crumbling resolve.

The displaced bartender expected the final shove into the upstairs bedroom. He didn't anticipate the extra measure of force his irate boss put in his arm. He was thrown into the wall from across the room, landing awkwardly with his injured side slamming into a protruding upright support beam. A blinding flash of white burst in front of his eyes as fresh, hot pain flooded through him. After the white, he saw stars. Gob was only vaguely aware of the sour man's barking voice, grabbing the words "customer" and "stay" and "shuffler" over an unending string of pitiful whimpers. It took him a couple moments to realize that the whimpers were coming from him. His side screamed as if he had been stabbed.

Eventually, as the scalding agony morphed into a deep stinging ache, his vision cleared to the point that he could tell he now sat on the floor, still clinging to the guilty pillar of metal. He heard the smoothskin's steps before he saw her. She burst into the room, shoving Moriarty aside on his way out, and leapt to his side.

"Gob! Are you okay?" she asked, her brow furrowed with worry.

This was a good sign. If she was here, she was most likely the one who paid for his time. Given his boss's reaction to her entrance, her arrangement was set for tonight. At the very least, she was now present to make good on her promised threat to intervene if he was sold to anyone else. No one would mess with her in her current state. But something was off. Suddenly, he realized.

"Smoothskin," he growled through clenched teeth, stretching one hand to fend her away while clutching his side with the other. "You can't be up here. You don't have your disguise."

"I don't need a disguise, Gob. You're hurt. Let me see," she insisted.

He insisted harder. "No – you do. Go back, quick, before people think you came to be with me." Again he pushed her away.

"And what do I care what people think?" she asked gently, temporarily giving up in her attempts to get at the side he was clearly favoring.

"Trust me," he pleaded, his voice suddenly dropping low and dangerous, "folks got a lot of insults and names for the undesirables in their society, but there's nothing you can be called worse than a 'ghoul lover.' Nothing."

"I'm done hiding, Gob," she said, tucking her feet under her legs, "and I'm done pretending. You see this old, raggedy vault suit that's fraying at the sleeves? This is who I am, a vault kid turned lone wanderer. I'm also friends with a lot of ghouls. When you go back to Underworld, you're gonna marvel at all the changes I helped make – because I fell in love with the people. Me and Winthrop even got the AC running in Underworld Outfitters, can you believe it? They're some of the most sincere and caring individuals this heartless wasteland has to offer. It breaks my heart whenever smoothskins take advantage of ghouls or speak down to them like they're worthless. I'm a huge fan of ghouls. Heck, I even met a friendly super mutant the other week. And I'm not going to let anything as insignificant as social conventions keep me from the friendship I have with you. I have nothing to hide, or be ashamed of, any more. The day is coming when ghouls and smoothskins live side by side, as equals. Someone's just gotta be the first to make a move."

He took a few breaths, turning so she couldn't see when he repositioned his hand under his ribs. "You don't understand," he started, but she cut him off.

"No, I do understand. And you know what else? You're worth it."

He couldn't argue with flawed logic. Besides, talking hurt.

She stood, pointing at him. "Now you stay right there. You're obviously injured."

Turning, she strode to the metal door and closed it all the way, then picked up the familiar backpack she dropped on her way in.

He struggled to stand before she could make it back to him. "I'll be fine," he forced out. He took the hand held out for him, but being hefted onto his feet sent a new jolt of pain through his body. A stifled cry escaped though his clenched teeth although he bit back the reflexive yelp.

"That doesn't sound like fine," she said, inching closer. "Did you fall? Did- did he push you into something?"

Lowering his gaze as if it were his fault, he nodded, tapping the metal beam.

Cassie sucked a in a breath through her teeth. "Oh, ow," she cooed. "Alright, let's see."

When she took a step forward, he took a step back, though it was more of a hobble and he had to choke down another pained grunt. "No, no. You really don't have to. I'm sure it didn't even break skin; there's nothing to see."

"C'mon Gob, you're in pain." When he merely looked uncertain, she continued, "You do know I only want to make it better, not worse, right?"

He nodded, ashamed of his weakness, ashamed that she knew the kinds of things Moriarty subjected him to, ashamed that even when he considered her his friend, a small part of his brain still warned that she might harm him.

Moving slowly, deliberately, she reached out and took a gentle hold of his hand, lifting it away from his side. Even when his hand was out of the way, she kept a light hold of it as she inched the hem of his shirt upwards. Stooping so she could get closer, she examined the patchwork of skin and exposed muscle that had bloomed a deep purple. He was grateful she only moved his clothes enough to see the damage, trying to focus on the fact that she was holding his hand.

"This is bad," she murmured, tentatively brushing her free thumb over the wounded skin. He flinched at the unfamiliar contact on his side, but her touch was so feather light, it did not hurt. "The bruising is deep."

She sighed. When the warm air from her lungs hit his unclothed flesh, he couldn't stop the involuntary shiver that ran up his spine. Luckily, he managed to snap his eyes back open before she noticed.

Letting his shirt fall back in place, she stood up. "Well, I was saving this for later in the night, but I think it'd be better to give it to you now," she said, popping open the canvas pack and setting it on the bed. "Sit."

Obeying her order, he peered inside where her hands rifled for some nondescript item. She pushed aside various food packages and a rather recognizable blanket to reach the very depths of the bag.

"Give what to me?" he asked warily.

"Just a little present. I can't believe I don't have any stimpaks in here, but I guess I thought I wouldn't need them. Ah hah!" she exclaimed, yanking out a little metal cube. It looked heavy, if the way the mattress sagged next to him when she put it down was any indication. "Lead-lined box," she explained, "but that's not the surprise."

When she clicked it open, the box's top flipped up to reveal two bottles of water that sat inside.

"Purified water?" he asked, looking up at her for an explanation.

"Not just any purified water," she replied. "It took a little bit of finagling, but I managed to pick up an extra souvenir the last time I was at Vault 87. Feel."

Though the specific vault number meant nothing to him, he complied and reached out to take one of the bottles. When he got close, however, he paused, surprised by the waves of heat and energy coming out of the box.

"Holy cow," he blurted, resting his hand against the smooth plastic bottle. "Those things are radioactive."

"Vault 87 is the most highly irradiated area in the wasteland I've come across," she described. "Serious ghoul vacation spot. The entrance is so hot, you can't even approach it to get in. Well, I can't. I actually tied those onto the end of a rope and threw them as far as I could into that radiation. After sitting there all night, they were practically glowing when I pulled them back. Hence the lead box." She set the box down next to the backpack. "Okay. Shirt off."

"Wait, wait," he pleaded, grabbing her wrists as she reached for the hem of his grimy tee. Avoiding her gaze because she wouldn't understand, he continued, "You don't have to do this."

"Relax," she urged. Kneeling on the floor beside him, she held onto his wrists before he could notice and let go. "Look, we've gone over this before. Forget the circumstances – I'm not here to take advantage of you. Irradiated water is the best thing for an injury like that, and I can tell you're still in a little bit of pain. So let me help you? Please?"

Grip loosening, he nodded solemnly. He didn't want her to see his uncovered body, to witness the extent of the damage. But she killed raiders, super mutants, feral ghouls. One more dead body probably wouldn't alarm her.

"Besides, I'm a doctor," she said with a smirk, taking a hold of his shirt's hem slowly to allow him time to react. As the garment crept up, first over his stomach, then his chest, Gob looked away. Besides everyone else's repulsion, the reason he never took it off was so he'd never have to see himself again, to be reminded of what he lost. Ghouls were notorious for having issues with body image. Before Cassie came around, he didn't have a reason to fret so much about the way he looked, didn't have someone he wished he could look better for.

With practiced tenderness, Cassie maneuvered the stained shirt up to his neck and around his arms – one at a time so as not to pull on his injured side. When it was finally over his head and balled in her hands, she stood with a shrug. "Well, sort of."

Sort of a doctor? He met her eyes at this admission, confused.

"I never really finished all the training," she confessed.

With an exacerbated sigh, Gob buried his face in his hands. The crisp air prickled phantom nerves over the surface of his exposed back.

"Don't worry about it," she said, smacking him on the shoulder with something soft – his shirt most likely. "You're in good hands."

He heard the lid of a plastic bottle twisting off. Despite the clear hazard to her well-being and clicking Geiger counter on her wrist, Cassie held one of the bottles in her bare hand, tipping it over.

"Wait, that's my only shirt."

She paused. "Hm? Oh, I brought you another one of those too," she said. "How convenient is that?"

A new shirt? Well, technically there wasn't such a thing as a "new" anything anymore. He digested these words as she soaked the off-white piece of cloth in her hand. She said it as if it were nothing, but Gob couldn't remember the last time he'd been given a spare piece of clothing. If he could muster up enough courage, he might as well ask her for some extra socks, seeing as she was in such a charitable mood.

"Here, lean back a little," she instructed over the mad ticking of her Pip-Boy and pressed the rad-saturated bundle against his side. The water was cool, but he could feel the radiation soaking into him immediately.

"Mm," he hummed, "that's definitely helping."

"I told you I knew what I was doing. Sort of."

He worried she'd stare, but instead she stayed focused on her task and not the wide expanse of ruined humanity sitting before her. Couldn't she see the difference between him and her? Maybe, as an almost-doctor, she thought he was a fascinating specimen – a moving, talking anatomy model. But she wasn't fascinated in a Moira sort of way. No, that would be far too dangerous. Regardless, he'd take fascinating over repulsive any day.

"Drink," she commanded, thrusting the other bottle in his face. "Doc Barrows says it helps."

Barrows. He wondered how the old ghoul was doing as the water tingled its way down his throat. Though he didn't think he needed anything besides the radiation salve, already noticing the ebbing discomfort, he drank three-quarters of the bottle. It felt like a heat source, warming him up from the inside.

"Here," he offered, tipping the plastic container to indicate he intended to rewet the shirt she was holding.

Cassie moved the damp fabric so he could pour the remainder of the water directly over his aching side, catching the rivulets before they reached his pants.

"The bruising's already going down," she observed, smiling up at him after repositioning the soaked shirt.

"I should probably be doing that," Gob said, moving his hand behind hers. Her indicator had not stopped ticking since she picked up the first bottle of glowing water, and she already got radiation poisoning for him once.

"Okay," she conceded, moving out of the way so he could hold the shirt.

When her hand left his side, her eyes settled somewhere else. Whoops.

He grimaced as her gaze traveled up his chest. Here it came – her final word on the matter. It probably wouldn't be anything harsh or even bad. He desperately wished she just wouldn't say anything at all.

Meeting his gaze as if asking permission, Cassie reached out for his free hand. Picking it up off his lap, she held it for a moment before releasing her grasp just enough to run her hand down his wrist, fingers lightly skirting over his ripped flesh. He surprised himself when his arm remained suspended in the air as he allowed her to touch him. Reaching the crook in his elbow, she paused, giving it a light squeeze, before continuing up to his shoulder. His eyes never left her sleek hand as it fluttered up his neck to cup his jaw, reminiscent of the first time he allowed her to touch him. She was so close. If he leaned down, even just a little bit, he could . . .

With an innocent smile, she moved her hand back to his neck, then his collarbone. That's when her face dropped to a neutrally blank expression. She whispered something that he didn't quite catch, but it sounded like the word "beautiful." Though he doubted he heard correctly, he had to know what she said. Poor thing? Pitiful? What a shame? Could be worse?

"What did you say?" he asked, voice unintentionally loud.

Looking up without taking her hand away, she repeated, "Beautiful."

He let the word hang there a few moments before scoffing lightly. "That's one I've never heard before."

"You are beautiful, Gob," she insisted quietly, fingers brushing an exposed patch of muscle. "It's just a shame that you can't see it. That you can't see what I see."

What exactly did she see? Those must be some military-grade rose-tinted glasses she was looking through if she thought something like him was beautiful.

"Yeah, I wish I could," he said.

"You know, you remember the way you were before," she trailed off, not needing to say exactly what pivotal moment she was referring to. "But this is the only you that I know, and you know what? I think you're beautiful."

He sighed, suddenly finding words in his mouth. "I guess I was average, overall. Not really thin, but not terribly muscular. Had more hair back then, but it was shorter. A little bit of chest hair too, if you can believe it," he said with a chuckle. Predictably, the radiation had taken that all away, leaving him with a few staunch patches on the top of his head. "Always was a bit on the pale side, but . . . handsome, I guess."

"You still are all those things, you know," she said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. "And c'mon, you can't tell me you miss having chest hair. I hear no one really likes it."

He chuckled despite himself. She was so young. So innocent. She was still touching him though.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I'm probably making you uncomfortable, aren't I?"

He was glad she removed her hand when she did. Otherwise, she might be able to feel the suddenly violent drumming of his heart. Pulling his gaze away, he shrugged, trying to act nonchalant and inspected his healing side.

"I should probably be trying to find that shirt I brought for you, I guess," she said, shuffling over to the open backpack. Instead of diving back in, she paused to examine her hand, opening and closing it a few times.

"Something wrong?" Gob asked, concerned that the rads were having some effect on her.

Burying her hand in the bottomless pit of supplies to hide it, she replied, "No. Nothing's wrong. Just forgot how warm you were, is all. I mean, I only found out that one night when you . . . w-when we . . . so yeah. I'm rambling now. Ugh, where'd I put that thing?"

Just as he feared, things began flying out of the sack. Food, water, the rolled up blanket, books, more food, that strange dark pistol she brought last time. Was that funnel cake in a box?

"Crud!" she exclaimed, upending the canvas bag to dump even more food, drinks, and books onto the bed. When nothing else came out, she shook it for good measure. She smacked a palm onto her forehead. "I have no idea what I did with it, but I could've sworn I packed it. Knowing me, I probably left it back at home."

"No rush," he muttered, dabbing the still damp shirt up his ribs. "I'm just sitting here half-naked like I do every Thursday."

Spinning on him, she cracked a mischievous grin. "I'd offer to take my shirt off as well, but I think that'd only make you more uncomfortable."

"Yes, please, leave your clothes on," he said quickly.

"Aw, such a gentleman," she chided, shoving a good amount of the packaged food back where it came.

Gob rescued the funnel cake box as she made a second swiping motion over the bed with her arm. Though it looked interesting, he doubted it tasted anything like the real thing and set it aside, wondering where she got it.

"Are we going to move the bed against the wall again?" he asked, hoping to steer the conversation somewhere safe.

" _I'm_ going to move the bed," she retorted. " _You're_ going to stand there and not overexert your side."

He moved when she took up position against the bed frame. Though he wanted to help, he figured she'd tie him down for the rest of the night if he hurt himself, and that was a scenario he didn't want to imagine.

The bed made a horrible screeching sound as the posts dragged over the metal floor, but with two strong shoves, it sat against the sidewall. With a huff, she dropped to a crouch and reexamined the contents of her bag.

"I can't believe I didn't put it in here," she said to herself.

While she was occupied, Gob draped the buzzing shirt over the headboard so it would dry faster. His side was feeling much better, and the bruising had almost completely vanished. Taking the initiative, he unrolled the plush blanket to spread over the questionable mattress and sheets. When an extra scrap of cloth fell out, he picked it up.

"Is this it?" he asked.

"Oh, there it is," she declared. "Of course, I rolled it in there so I couldn't possibly forget it. Some genius I am."

As he unfolded the square of fabric, it took the shape of a beige short sleeve t-shirt. Without stain or rip, it appeared only slightly worn. It even looked like it was the right size.

For someone with so much to give, a kind gesture such as this was an afterthought – a middle-of-the-week, no-particular-occasion gift. To him, this was Christmas and his birthday and National Ghoul Appreciation Day all at once, none of which the wasteland recognized as actual events. It was just a shirt, or as much as anything could be just an undeserved miracle.

"Thank you," he whispered, feeling the fabric rub together under the pads of his fingers. "You don't know how much this means to me."

And then she smiled, the kind that made him momentarily forget about the miracle shirt, the kind that cleared his eyes and smoothed his voice and rebuilt him until he was whole again, the kind that felt like fresh rain falling on his skin and warming sunlight. Best of all – he was the only other person in the room. No one else got to see the smile she had on right now. Just a miracle. Just a smile. Just him.

The sudden urge to rush forward came over him for a second time, but instead of putting his hands on her to wrestle, he wanted to hold her in place and capture her mouth with his, to taste that perfect smile on his lips. He would consume her smile, drink it in until it was no more.

Breaking himself away from the tempting image of crushing his lips to hers – she would wholeheartedly reciprocate of course, it was a fantasy after all – Gob berated himself for hosting such outlandish thoughts. She didn't want that, least of all from him. Him, a ghoul bartender slave, stuck in one of the most dead end towns in the Capital Wasteland. She was literally the Last, Best Hope of Humanity. Free as the wind and elegant as an old-world water lily, she should want nothing to do with him. She wasn't here for that.

But she was here.

Not only here, but here with him, alone. Him, her, and that smile of hers. She paid to have this private time with him. Of all the people she talked to in the saloon – and she talked to a lot of people – it was his conversation she sought whenever she took her customary seat at the bar. She never spent a full afternoon speaking to anyone other than him, and they did that regularly. After turning Stockholm away for what had to be the tenth time, she turned around and asked to hear a story from his life before the war. If she did have someone in her life, that man should be jealous of the amount of time she spent with him at the bar.

Even though social conventions stood staunchly against it, he could not deny the sheer amount of time they spent in each other's presence or how much they enjoyed that time together. The evidence was loading up against him. Maybe he did have a chance with her after all.

As he stood considering these things, Cassie approached to reassess his ribs. "Does it still hurt?"

"Huh?" He asked, wringing his new shirt. "No. No, I'm great."

"Are you sure? I could run back to my house and grab a few stimpaks," she offered, tossing a thumb over her shoulder. "I wouldn't be surprised if you had a little internal bleeding."

"Smoothskin," he said kindly. "I'm fine, really. See?" Gob pulled the shirt over his head, momentarily taken aback by the stiff scratchiness of the not yet broken-in article of clothing. "No pain," he declared, holding his arms wide.

"I guess that water was stronger than I thought," she said, tugging on his hem until it was even and then straightening his flat collar. "Sorry for freaking out earlier. I hate seeing you hurt, is all."

Picking up on her continuing unease, he arrested her hands before they could set after every tiny wrinkle. "You're too good to me, smoothskin."

"So you say," she replied. Noticing their clenched hands, she backed away. "Sorry. I keep doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Touching you," she said, returning to the nervous habit of minutely rearranging her hair. "I know you aren't really comfortable with that. Not that I can blame you or anything. I mean, if my supervisor and just about everyone else I knew made a habit of hurting me at every chance they got, I probably wouldn't let anyone come within ten feet of me either. That's not an easy mindset to break, and hey, it's that time when I ramble like a moron regarding things I have no business talking about. Spring Valley Potato Crisps?"

"Yes, those are," he said, pushing the box of junk food down so that she couldn't use it to hide her face. "Hey, would you relax? That's what I plan on doing."

"Good idea," she said with a grin. "So, you actually know what that stuff is?" she asked, pointing to his rescued box of funnel cake.

It was easier, this time around, to crawl onto the bed, put his feet up, and start gorging on the small banquet the vault girl managed to pack into her knapsack. Without the crippling apprehension of being sold, Gob was able to talk and laugh and stay on topic even when the smoothskin occasionally squeezed his hand or arm.

After a few hours, Cassie sat up, fanning herself.

"Hot?" he questioned.

"A bit," she admitted. "I know I said I wasn't going to take my shirt off, but I just want to unzip the top of my jumpsuit. Is that okay?"

"Uhh," Gob stammered, hastily recovering with a sip of water.

"I promise I have a shirt on underneath this," she said.

"Yeah, sure," he said with a shrug. "Whatever."

Even though he tried not to, his eyes followed her lithe fingers as they drew the silver zipper down to her navel. She folded the top of the blue jumpsuit around her hips, tying the sleeves at her waist. The black tank top she wore showcased the lengths of youthful skin that ran up her arms, occasionally dotted by a faint scar or freckle.

"Gob, you're staring," she teased.

"No I wasn't," he flung back, taking another sip.

"You totally were," she continued, stabbing a finger playfully into his shoulder.

"Was not," he said, swatting her hand away. He totally was.


	13. Chapter 13

"Last surprise!" Cassie declared, bouncing the mattress when she made a lunge for her pack. Empty food packaging rattled around the blanket with her movement. The hollow funnel cake box fell off the edge, along with a box of Dandy Boy Apples.

"Another one?" the ghoul questioned.

"Last one, I promise."

"Good," Gob sighed. "I don't think I can handle any more."

"What are you talking about? You love surprises."

"Not really, no."

"You like my surprises."

"Ah, you," he said, shaking his finger at her, "you have a habit of shocking me and then calling it a surprise afterwards."

"Well, I think you'll like this one," she said, producing a pair of large thermoses from the bottom of the bag.

"Hmm, another type of water bottle," he observed. "What does this water do? Cure ghoulification?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she admonished. "Besides, this isn't water at all. Hold."

He took the thermoses from her, weighing them in his hands while she searched her pile of junk for bowls and spoons. "Of course not," he said, "that would be too predictable. If I open this, will something jump out and attack me?"

"You're just full of jokes today," she droned, swiping the metal containers from him. "It's food, see?" Cassie opened one and poured its contents into a waiting bowl.

"Mm, soup," the ghoul observed. "Let me rephrase that: more food." The only surprise so far was that she expected him to eat more. "Are you sure it doesn't cure ghoulification?"

"Shut up and eat," she said, thrusting the warm bowl and spoon into his hands. "Spoon. Mouth. Now."

"Yes, thank you," he replied. "I do know how to feed myself."

It did smell good, whatever it was. As the spoon slotted into his mouth and the tangy reddish-brown stew flowed over his tongue, Gob's eyes widened. He nearly choked. The girl's smile grew.

As soon as he swallowed, he was sputtering incoherently. "It's, I can't, is it really?"

"Carol's homemade squirrel stew?" she asked with a pleased nod. "It is."

"I can't believe it," he said, shoveling more of the unfamiliar culinary favorite into his mouth.

"Surprise," she gloated, filling her own bowl.

Not soon after, Gob found himself staring at the gray ceiling, absolutely stuffed to the neck.

"I ate too much," Cassie said, vocalizing his present thoughts.

He merely hummed in response.

Fabric rustled. The mattress dipped beside him.

"Hey, are you asleep?"

He was about to answer when a finger prodded his shoulder. It poked at him a couple times before heading north to jab his neck. Exasperated, he grabbed Cassie's hand to keep her away from him.

"Why's your neck all squishy?" she asked.

Unable to dignify her childish questioning with a response, the ghoul melted into a fit of giggles. When her laughter joined in, it sounded like music.

They quieted down eventually. Out of breath, he heard the girl flop back on the bed and mutter, "Oh, my side hurts now."


	14. Chapter 14

"After thus overwhelming us with the extent of his information," Gob read, "he slipped out of the cabin. The mate observed regretfully that he 'could not account for that young fellow's whims.' What prevented him telling us all about it at once, he wanted to know."

The vault girl's form was a warm weight at his side. Over the last half hour, her eyes drifted shut. He couldn't be sure if she was asleep or not, as the occasional brush of her fingers regularly diverted his attention to where they rested at his elbow. It wouldn't have been that distracting had she not also been using his shoulder as a pillow. Tucked up against his side, he had to admit that she might genuinely enjoy the sound of his voice when he read.

His eyes skimmed the aged page, picking up where he left off. "I detained him as he was making a move. For the last two days the crew had had plenty of hard work, and the night before they had very little sleep. I felt painfully that I – a stranger – was doing something unusual when I directed . . ."

He paused when Cassie's head lifted from his shoulder to let out a jaw-creaking yawn. After a quick stretch, she fell back beside him, though her eyes remained half open.

"'M sorry," she mumbled. "I'm falling asleep on you."

"Literally," he told her.

She sighed, closing her eyes again. "That's nice."

"What is?" he asked.

"You reading."

"You've said that already."

"I'll say it again – it sounds nice." She stifled a smaller yawn. "It's putting me right to sleep. Who is it?"

"Conrad," he replied, flipping over the hardcover.

"Oh, no wonder," she said. "I can't stand him. He's always too . . ."

"Dark?"

"Wordsy."

Quirking his brow at her, he said, "That isn't a real word."

"Yeah well," she replied, leaning away from him to sit up on her own, "I'm not very wordsy myself at the moment either."

As she settled back on her side, facing him, Gob closed the book. "Hey, why don't you go to sleep? You said you walked to Girdershade and back today – you must be tired."

She cracked an eye at him.

"I promise I'll be here in the morning," he concluded.

"Aww, you're so romantic," she said, drowsiness slurring her words. "I don't want to keep you from reading, though."

"It's alright, I'm done. You go on and sleep."

"Don't just sit there and watch me. That's creepy."

"I think I'll sleep too," he said, scooting down the bed to lie beside her.

"Would you get the light?" she pleaded feebly with a vague wave of her hand towards the door.

"I gotta do everything," he muttered sarcastically as he rolled over. He stood, crossed the room to the light switch, flipped it off, and then crossed back to the large bed. Before he climbed in again, he paused to examine this strange smoothskin. It was tough work saving the wasteland day after day, yet she looked so harmless lying on the wrinkled blanket like that. No doubt she had had her fair share of dealings with monsters – was sharing a bed with one more really that spectacular? Then again, she probably didn't hold hands with super mutants or brush her fingers along their elbow.

"You're watching me."

Startled out of his trance, Gob hopped in to settle down on his side of the mattress.

"Was not," he argued.

"It's creepy," was all she said before taking a large breath and falling silent once again.

He tried closing his eyes, but inevitably found them open again. Though he left a respectable distance between them, he couldn't stave off the encroaching sensation that she was right there, inches away and vaguely outlined in the fading light. So close, he could hear her quiet breath in and out. So close, he thought he smelled the soap she used to wash herself, like strawberries. So close, he could reach out and . . . No, he would not entertain that line of thought, he decided as he rolled onto his back. Of its own accord, his head turned towards the sleeping smoothskin. He could.

As quietly as he was able, he turned on his side to face her once more. Acclimated to the dark, his eyes traced the soft lines of her face and the gentle spiral where her light brown hair curled around an ear. It looked shorter than he remembered seeing it in the weeks past; perhaps she had it cut.

He recalled the first night she lay beside him like this, recalled hearing how he'd slept with his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. She wasn't angry afterwards. A little embarrassed maybe – he certainly was.

Would she be angry if it happened again? Would she let him do it again, if it were deliberate?

Taking his wild running thoughts as permission, one hand reached out towards Cassie's sleeping form. Before he could stop it, or even realized it was there, his fingertips brushed the smooth skin along the back of her arm, and he froze. Skin-on-skin contact was becoming a more frequent occurrence over their last few weeks together, though it continued to surprise and bewilder him whenever it happened. When it did, however, Cassie was always quick to assure him that it was appropriate and acceptable, which saved his nerves on a number of occasions.

Without this affirmation, he found himself unsure and suddenly uneasy. He expected the fear of retaliation, and for caution to win out and force his hand back. But they did not come. Instead, his hand took more liberty and roamed towards her shoulder.

His thoughts drifted again to the unfathomable impulse he felt earlier that day. He couldn't make out her lips in the darkness, but had spent enough time staring at them – not them directly, but her entire face of which they were definitely a part – to know where they sat a few inches below her eyelashes. His hand stopped before it could seek them out. He had to admit to himself that he had a chance, and as a ghoul, he had nothing if not time.

When his hand dropped to the blanket between them, he jumped slightly when it unintentionally landed on another hand. Distracted by a gentle moan and position shift from the smoothskin, he did not have a chance to pull away before her sleepy fingers slowly wrapped around his.

Gob smiled. Looking down, though he could not see their joined hands in the dark, the knowledge they were there sat like a warm cloak over his shoulders. This was something he could get used to. This was something he _wanted_ to get used to.


	15. Chapter 15

After bribing Moriarty a second time to give his bartender a restful evening off, she paid him a quick visit the following afternoon and then vanished completely from Megaton. While she was there, she stayed long enough to deliver some substantial threats to his boss regarding his latest injuries, promising full hellfire and retribution if it happened again.

Even more bizarre than her crazed shouting was the fact that her threats actually appeared to be working. Apart from a few light cuffs, Moriarty had not laid a hand on his bartender since Cassie got up in his face in front of the entire bar. Nova was similarly lacking bruises from the irate Irishman, who took to locking himself in his private side room most days.

Whenever one of the permanent residents of Megaton showed up, Gob asked if they had seen Cassie, but it was always the same. No one had seen her, and there was no word on the caravans. As the days drug on, Gob stayed close to the radio, turning up the volume whenever he had to leave the bar to clear a table. It had been four weeks since Cassie left Megaton, four weeks since he woke up to find her cradled in his arms. She had woken up before him again, but upon his wakeful stirring had merely nuzzled farther into his chest and pulled him closer with a pleasant sigh.

It had also been ten days since Three Dog cut off "Anything Goes" in the middle of the second verse. Sounds of shattering coffee mugs, fluttering papers, and several muted thuds led a few listeners to infer the stuttering DJ had knocked a few things off his recording desk in his haste to the microphone. What came next managed to hush the entire bar – an impossible feat even when it was empty.

"People of the Capital Wasteland, you won't believe the news I've just heard! I don't like to cut a tune off like that, but I couldn't wait a single minute to pass this along. Eulogy Jones is dead! Ha ha haa! I just received a report from a friendly scavenger that Paradise Falls is now a proverbial ghost town – bodies of slavers everywhere. In fact, he's still in my office, probably wondering why I bolted outta there like the bombs were dropping all over again. Hey Joel," he yelled, sounding farther away for a few moments, "come over here and lay some gospel truth on the listening wasteland. Best of all, he said the gates of the slave pens were wide open, and none of the bodies were wearing collars. Ha hah! Never thought I'd see the day – ol' Eulogy finally bit the big one. We won't miss 'ya!" A pause, and some shuffling noises, then, "Go on, Joel, tell 'em."

"I saw it with my own eyes. Looked like Eulogy had an entire army of slavers and mercenary goons in that compound, but that wasn't enough to stop whatever ripped through there. Saw the big man too, or what was left of 'em. No mistake about it – Eulogy Jones is dead."

"Ding! Dong! Eulogy Jones is dead! And who else could be responsible for dear Mr. Jones's departure but that plucky youth – Miss 101."

"All by herself?" Joel's voice asked from the background.

"I don't call her the Lone Wanderer for nothing. Hey kid, if you can hear my voice, swing by the studio like, _right now_. Three Dog's drooling for details."

It was five hours until Three Dog was able to stop celebrating long enough to let a record play over GNR, and even then, he repeated the news after every song.

That had been ten days ago. Gob stood by the radio, still hopeful that the DJ would say something new, that he would let them know Cassie was alright. Despite his daily pleas, all his sources that confirmed the extermination of the slavers were random wanderers and scavengers. Miss 101 never turned up on his doorstep.

Despite this, Three Dog continued to celebrate the victory claimed by the good fight. With nowhere else to go, slavers were leaving the Capital Wasteland in droves, seeking out greener pastures for their flesh trade. Even news of the Enclave was overshadowed by repeated accounts of the destruction witnessed at Paradise Falls and testimonies from former slaves.

"Word from Rivet City says those vertibirds are still parked over at the memorial. Probably because there's no one to fly them away anymore. You see, children, there's a team of scientists working on a very special project in that neck of the woods, and the Enclave decided they wanted a piece of it. What's the matter, Eden? You need a new toy to play with? Bored of being president already? You've only been sitting in that self-proclaimed seat for the last thirty years. I'm not big on history, but I'm pretty sure the president isn't supposed to stay president that long. Oh! The scientists. As I was saying, the Enclave flew in and was promptly kicked back out – in body bags. Nerd rage, am I right? That's the rule of the wasteland, folks: if you try to take something that doesn't belong to you, its owner is gonna fight back, and probably kill you. You know who else is dead? Eulogy Jones. Ha! I never get tired of saying that. One more time, Eulogy Jones is dead, and now some music."

Moriarty walked into the saloon shortly after Three Dog's broadcast. The sheriff came to collect him earlier, and whatever transpired between the two men left his boss red in the face. He stomped to the side room and slammed the door behind him, making the entire building shudder. Nova merely shrugged from her seat at the bar's far end and laid her head on the worn surface. After requesting Gob's help, which was more encouragement than anything else, she stopped using Jet, but the detoxing process left her weary. He took a moment to watch her, noting the way sunlight sparkled in her red locks in a way he had grown incredibly fond of.

With a click, the radio fell silent. Gob turned to confront whoever thought they were allowed to control his radio.

"Who do you think you-"

From the other side of the bar, hand still resting lightly on the radio, Cassie tilted her head at him. She had a couple scrapes along her cheek and chin, as well as a small cut on her forehead, but fire burned in her eyes.

"I think I'm going to have to be the one responsible for the death of the wasteland's favorite disk jockey if I hear the name 'Eulogy Jones' one more time. Honestly, if I knew it was going to be this much of a headache, I would have, I don't know, hidden the body or something."

Unable to hold himself back, Gob grabbed Cassie's arm and pulled her into a clumsy embrace, almost yanking her across the bar.

"I can't believe it, you're back," he whispered into her hair. "I'm so glad you're okay."

Nova got up and joined their reunion, wrapping an arm around each of them as much as she was able. The three then sat down with a plate of squirrel bits to share.

"Not Paradise Falls. Anything but Paradise Falls," Cassie declared, throwing her hands to the sky.

"I heard the Enclave tried to muscle in at the memorial. Is your dad okay?" Gob asked.

"Yeah, he's okay," she said around a bite of squirrel. "Managed to get himself locked in the control chamber with some guy claiming to be a colonel in the United States Army. Autumn, I think. He was demanding we turn the project over to him, and since his soldiers had tried to keep me out of the control room by any means necessary, I whipped out A3 and vaporized his head right through the security glass. Which of course led to more shooting, but hey, that's what stimpaks are for. There literally isn't anything they can't fix." She took a sip of Nuka-Cola. "Except dead. They can't fix dead, to my knowledge. Incidentally, I managed to pick you up some socks in Rivet City."

Digging around in her pack, she tossed the small bundle at the speechless bartender. Temporarily disconnected, the bartender cradled the parcel against his chest, feeling squishy fabric through the brown paper. Somewhere between eradicating the biggest slaver base for hundreds of miles and protecting her father from certain death at the hands of the Enclave, this little smoothskin kept his lighthearted request for socks in her mind.

Unable to recover his attention, the two girls chatted among themselves until the door to the saloon opened again. Sheriff Simms strode in, tipping his hat to the vault girl as he approached the bar.

"Morning folks," he said. "Surprised to see you two still here. But I suppose congratulations are in order."

A few moments passed, his only response three confused stares. Mid-sip, Cassie suddenly spat the Nuka-Cola out of her mouth, spraying the bar and only narrowly avoiding Gob. Her violent reaction and subsequent coughing fit managed to snap Gob out of his trance, and he went to take the bottle from her hand and clean the bar. She hid her face in her hands, still coughing occasionally.

Patting the girl on the back, Nova replied, "Congratulations for what? And where else would we be?"

"Why, anywhere besides this place. You're free now."

Again the bar fell silent, broken only by Cassie's restrained coughs. The two bar employees' eyes widened, shifting between the sheriff and the vault girl.

"Are," Nova stuttered, "are you serious?"

The sheriff only gestured to the wanderer.

After a few more coughs, and a quick peek around her fingers, Cassie lowered her hands. "I completely forgot," she said somberly. "I paid off your debts to Moriarty. You really are free."

While Nova broke into tears and caught the girl in a crushing embrace with incoherent murmurings of gratitude, Gob stood behind the bar like a statue. The package of socks was still clutched to his chest, but he could not feel his arms. Whatever Cassie said must not have processed right, because it sounded like she told him that he was free. After fifteen years, he is handed socks and his freedom. Nova cheered and hugged the sheriff, all the while he could not take his eyes off the smoothskin. Her gaze slowly slid over to him as she tucked a lock of light brown hair behind her ear. Her lips formed around the single note of his name, but he was deaf to hear it.

Free. No more Moriarty. No more Moriarty's Saloon. Free.

He could go back to Underworld. He could see Carol. That's what free was, wasn't it? He didn't know for sure. He had it once, a long time ago, but the memory was far off.

Sensation came back to him all at once, like forgetting to breathe. The brown paper covering the socks crumpled in his hands. In the background, he heard Nova's tearful celebration, but before him sat a smoothskin, a young girl looking unsure in her new wasteland, her lips forming his name. He heard it this time.

"Gob?" she asked, her voice small compared to Nova's cheers and the sheriff's congratulations. "Say something."

Free.

Gob vaulted over the bar, dropping the socks and knocking over a couple bar chairs on his landing. She stood up as he took her by the shoulders.

His mouth dry and every nerve vibrating, he finally croaked, "Cassie?"

Both unsure, they regarded each other for a moment, long enough for Gob to make up his mind. Surging forward, his lips crashed into hers, and he kissed her. Gob tasted the sweetness of Nuka-Cola on her lips as his hands flew up to frame her face. He felt her fingers grasping at the front of his shirt, urging him closer.

He was pulled off much too soon, but could not help reveling in Cassie's slightly tousled appearance or the way her lips remained parted as a strong arm yanked him back.

It was Nova. "Back off, sister," she warned, her grip tightening around his middle. "He's mine."

Though they were both smiling, Cassie raised her hands in a sign of surrender. "My bad," she replied.

The side door flew open, and Moriarty stuck his head out.

"Are 'ya still here?" he bellowed, redder than a tato.

"Hey Moriarty," Nova said, getting his attention. She raised her hand at him, giving a one-finger salute.

Gob followed suit. Cassie joined in, flipping him off with both fingers. Even the sheriff showed his disdain.

With a huff, he retreated and slammed the door.

Cassie's shoulders began to shake. Her giggles rose as Nova joined her, and the ghoul laughed along with them. And when their laughter mixed together, it sounded like music to Gob.


End file.
